


The Alliance

by reluctantwriter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reluctantwriter/pseuds/reluctantwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season Two about the fallout of the mountain and the next threat to survival. Are alliances intact?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling around in my head for a few weeks and felt compelled to write it. Not entirely sure where it's headed but it's getting there. The first chapter is pretty slow and scene setting, but necessary, hence the double post where things actually kick off...

She kept moving. It kept her alert, her blood pulsing and her breath shallow. Whenever she moved through the woods she had the feeling of being watched, there was almost always the feeling that the relatively settled and protected environment she had striven to make would come crashing down around her. Mount Weather had fallen. The Ark was intact. Yet somewhere there would be someone wanting war; there would be something wild and untameable with a thirst for blood. 

That was something Clarke had learnt: there was no guarantee of security.

Even after everything she had worked to secure there were still lone threats. A Reaper broken from a pack and long passed hunger had ambushed her one day. Punch after punch slowly wore down the famished attacker, but what ultimately took it out was a crack on the head from a small boulder. Clarke had assumed it was one of the Arkers, she crossed paths with them every now and then, but when no answer came on questioning the trees around her, shouting into the silence, she assumed full forgiveness from her people had not yet been granted. She was sure there would be some who would never talk to her again - Jasper. It was conceivable that a hunting party had witnessed the attack and stepped in, and even more conceivable that they would not wish to make contact with the ruthless one, the one who shoulders the burden.

The woods are thick and vast and people can lose their way easily and go mad with the affliction of finding exit, or at least this is what Clarke assumed had happened to the Grounder who attacked her. With her knife withdrawn ready to stab crazed flesh, Clarke stood ready. However, the moment never came as the wanderer seemingly dropped dead on his path towards her. Turning the body timidly over with her foot, revealed a wound in the back of his neck. It looked fresh, but there was no implement that had made it. No arrow, no knife. Calling out into her surroundings, Clarke was not met with a reply. She was alone. 

The landslide was unforeseeable. A natural event that Clarke can forgive, understanding that on this ever-changing planet the need to shift and cleanse and regenerate is vital. She could not foresee it, but it did not lessen her grief at the devastation it wrecked. If nature reclaimed its land, what hope did anyone have? Clarke was sure she should be have been reclaimed by the soil, looking up and seeing nothing but the magnitude of earth eating all in its wake, gathering strength from all that it demolished. Her breath hitched, stilled, bracing herself for the sudden impact; instead, she was hit from an angle she was not expecting. When she came to she was metres from the remains.   
It was with trepidation that Clarke circulated the Ark settlement, though she never showed it. Most days went without worry, and on those days Clarke viewed her trips as an essential part of her role. On the days when things went awry, namely she could skirt the border with no sign of surveillance, she worried for the safety of her people, if they can’t even patrol their land rigidly… 

Sunlight filtered through the trees, dappling the floor and creating welcome patches of shade from the bright sun. The air smelt sweet from the tree pollen and Clarke drank in the sights of the land she used to glimpse from afar. Through the haze of sunrays and the quietness of the forest came a low rumbling. She stopped in her tracks, extended her gun. All of sudden, it was upon her. A flash of darkness. Pouncing on her, the beast went for her throat. Giant paws slashed and mauled, teeth ripped and shredded flesh. Bullets fired into its body, but to no avail, the sheer size of the thing withstood the blows. Throwing it off momentarily, Clarke took in the animal shaking off its fall. Bullet after bullet wormed its way into flesh, but still it redoubled and stalked closer to Clarke. Preparing to pounce, it lowered its haunches, eyes firmly set on its prey. Three more shots hit before it sprang towards her. 

Before she could comprehend, the beast was knocked sideways. Yelps of pain reverberated against Clarke’s eardrums, but all she could see was a struggle of limbs and claws and blood. Finally a strangled cry ended the fray and there was silence once more. Clarke staggered towards the mass. Its throat had been hacked, blood pooled around its sickening head, and bent over, on hands and knees, was a dark figure. Laboured breaths evened and Clarke’s saviour looked up. Like a punch to the stomach, Clarke recoiled. Lexa. 

Barely audible, Clarke exhaled, ‘What are you doing?’

‘I have an alliance to honour.’


	2. Chapter 2

The six words infiltrated Clarke’s system slowly, felling her eardrums immediately, but chiselling away at her brain piece by piece until it crumbled. Slowly at first, Clarke’s features began to take on the mask of fury: nostrils flared indignantly, brows creased, splitting her forehead in two, and her mouth set firmly. But then altogether the fury came, as her stance tensed and words spilled bitterly from her tongue. There was no mask; only pure rancour.

‘You relinquished the right to honour and alliance the day you violated both of them’. 

The words were spat with vehemence, every word a poniard, sharpened by months of resentment. Lexa felt the searing pain. She averted her eyes from the cold stare, but withstood the overwhelming desire to bow her head in shame. This may not have been the reaction she was expecting, but she knew it was a possibility.

Clarke stood silently. Lexa waited for the second wave, the second assault, but no artillery came. Looking once more at the silent figure revealed Clarke was at a loss for what to say. Repulsion, confusion, loathing, and turmoil flickered across blue eyes, like thumbing through a manuscript haphazardly. The page she stilled on was confusion.

‘What are you doing here?’ 

Lexa steadied her breath, straightened her back, coolly met Clarke’s gaze, despite the pain of what must be a dislocated shoulder, resembling every inch the Commander Clarke remembered her being. A momentary jolt of recognition seized her diaphragm, but the child of the Sky would not expose that.

‘I have an alliance to honour,’ Clarke breathed out heavily in annoyance but Lexa continued, ‘My first alliance was to my people, and I did not honour it as I should have. I was not the Commander my people wanted. I did wrong with my first alliance. As such, I seek to honour my second’.

The leaves of the manuscript had surely been blown by a relentless gust of wind as Clarke struggled to comprehend. She took in Lexa’s appearance bit by bit. Though she had seen the girl, she had not properly looked at her. With ragged boots, torn trousers and sleeves, no armoured shoulders, no bellowing mantle, with no intricate braids or imposing dark streaks of war paint, the Commander stood before her. No, Lexa cut a different figure. She may have the stance of the Commander, may even speak with the practised and precise regality of one, however there was something fundamentally amiss, some weight that held her up and propelled her forward in her position had vanished. It had let her falter; it had made her smaller. 

‘Where are your people?’ Clarke’s voice almost quivered, but she retained her edge of sharpness at her deserter. 

A solitary gulp while closing her heavy eyelids, a momentary respite, afforded Lexa a second to gather her courage to articulate her greatest failing. ‘When I left you and your people that day, I thought with my head and not my heart. I thought with my head to protect my people as I could not gamble on my heart. I sought to show my strength and control, it was my decision to withdraw and I did so thinking that it would be what my people wanted. We had reached our goal. What I did not account for was the Grounder pride in battle, that they hankered for blood and avengement still, that they viewed my decision as a retreat. They viewed my decision as fearful, that I did not have trust in them to fight. They did not welcome our alliance, though they accepted it, however they were not willing to accept a truce with the Mountain Men after all they had done. They were somewhat right.’

The pull of Lexa’s shoulder twinged now that she had confessed her position. She had little to uphold and no face to lose, so propped herself against the base of a tree. Clarke noticed the action and though she followed the move, stepping closer, she did not join Lexa but remained standing, demanding further information.

‘Celebrations at having our people back were muted. Whispers of discontent were rife. I did not challenge because I had realised what I had done. I had removed the cornerstone of the clan, the premise of our society. For days I withdrew from public consultation, I had not only shown weakness but ignorance and it was unforgivable. A coup had begun and I let it breed. Ready for my trial and for my execution, I would pay for my failings gladly -’

‘They overthrew you?’ Clarke interjected, the pitch of her voice giving away her shock.

A hollow laugh. Then silence. ‘I am the Commander. My people may feel overlooked, may feel wounded, or may not approve of my decision, but they would not presently confront me or challenge me outright. I ordered a hearing, a trial in my mind at least, I was ready for an onslaught and I got no such thing. I wanted retribution for my decision, but already by my allowance for their grievances, for indulging their momentary cloaked discontent, had bought me further respect. I had respected their opinions, had taken their wrath for their own good. Only one had the gall to question my leadership during the hearing, and I watched as my people trammelled him to floor and spilled his blood. I was not the Commander my people wished for at Mount Weather, but I was the Commander they required. They recognise that. Still, I had not calculated for their initial reactions. Their sensibilities are changing…’

Lexa searched the sky as though the reason for this would manifest there before her eyes. When nothing appeared, she returned to Clarke’s scrutiny. ‘They wish me to honour our alliance still. We held discussion after discussion about the best way to ensure the Sky People remain allies. Envoys were suggested, heralds with requests for talks were demanded, written correspondence, even radio contact, was proposed, though I quashed every idea. I understand the gravity of my decision on that day, that when I left I outlawed myself to you. How would you react to a messenger from Polis?’ Lexa’s lips quirked. ‘The alliance was ours. I would not have looked favourably upon anyone else delivering word of it. Neither is it something that needs to be publically declared when it remains intact between us alone.’

Clarke’s anger had resurfaced again. It seemed almost impossible that Lexa wanted the alliance to stand, even more impossible that she seemed to think she had honoured it all this time.

‘Huh. ‘Intact’? How is it ‘intact’? How have you ‘honoured’ our alliance all this time? Do you even know what happened when you left? It’s been four months. Four whole months and I had no word from you, no action whatsoever. If you think you have maintained this,’ Clarke gestured between herself and Lexa, ‘you’re… mistaken’.

Lexa stood abruptly taking two steps forward in a second, before reigning in her reactions and stilling a pace or two from Clarke, ‘The only person mistaken here is you’. Clarke rolled her eyes, shook her head, huffed, while Lexa’s face began to contort into her commander snarl. 

‘Do explain how, Commander Lexa. Break it down for me, because right now the only thing I see when I look at you is a dishonest coward.’ 

In the blink of an eye, Clarke is thrust backward onto a floored tree, an arm pressing against her windpipe and a hand clutching her jacket. She is by no means weak, but the force of the motion had shaken her and she cannot muster enough strength to escape from Lexa’s grip. Clarke’s arms try ineffectually to push the Commander away.

‘That lone Reaper. The crazed Grounder. The landslide. This hound. Tell me, Clarke of the Sky People, does that satisfy you?’ Lexa pressed her weight on Clarke, her arm pushing further into flesh, before she shoved away, released her grip and turned her back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter = double posting again.

Clarke gathered herself. She was feeling weak, light headed, whether that was from her blood loss, her choked windpipe, or the sight of the Commander, was insignificant.

‘You are bleeding,’ Lexa remarked, turning once more to see a shaken Clarke, ‘Here’. She ripped at her clothing and passed the material to Clarke, who took it begrudgingly but held it fast to her neck, tying it securely in place.

‘How’s your arm?’ Clarke had noticed the limp positioning of Lexa’s left arm, and had intended to ignore the injury, just as Lexa had ignored her pleading look at Mount Weather.

‘Hurts’.

‘It’s dislocated. It needs to be popped back.’ Clarke made towards Lexa, hesitating only briefly, before realigning the joint and forcing it back in position.

‘Thank you.’ Lexa glanced at Clarke from the corner of her eye, angling her chin towards the blonde and allowing herself to remember the last time they shared this closeness. Clarke seemed to remember also as she dropped her hand and stepped away. She was still processing that Lexa had protected her over the last four months.

‘Have you been following me the whole time?’

‘Not personally, no. I have duties to attend in Polis, my people need me there, but I am able to venture out. I have been on a Commander’s tour of the area here, going from village to village to greet my people, to hear their grievances and successes. It was fortunate that I was close by, it meant that when I could not personally oversee our alliance I could delegate’.

Clarke nodded her understanding. The trees had been watching and listening after all. ‘I don’t need protecting’, she finally stated, the words sounding hollow to her as she looked at the carcass of the beast that had been about to gorge her.

It was Lexa’s turn to nod, ‘No, but our alliance does and you and it are one and the same’. Her tone was resolute and her eyes held an intensity that Clarke had seen only when stirring her people to battle. Clarke knew, before Lexa even finished her statement, whatever words she replied with would fall on deaf ears. Lexa would guard the alliance to her death, and by extension Clarke.

The two stilled in a laden silence, there was much to be said, but the time for expression had passed. They sat adjusting to the world around them again, thinking on the implications of the alliance.

Silence was not present for long as the sound of rapid hooves interrupted their thoughts. Lexa instinctively withdrew her blade and stood before Clarke, who just as quickly had withdrawn her gun and pointed it over Lexa’s shoulder. Bursting through the woodland came a Grounder pulling hard on the reins of his horse who obediently stopped before its Heda.

‘ _Heda_! Polis – it has fallen.’

Lexa lowered her blade but squared her shoulders, audible only to Clarke, only because of her closeness, she whispered the word, ‘Ice’.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fair amount of setting action up...

Lexa mounted the horse in a flash as her messenger switched positioned so that he was standing before Clarke, holding reins steady as the revered Commander took action. Lexa steeled her gaze while wrapping the reins around her hands tightly, the leather biting into flesh as a reminder that this was real: Polis had fallen. The next move she made seemed entirely instinctual, and the brief flicker of uncertainty in Lexa’s eyes momentarily portrayed her own surprise at the motion. She had extended her hand towards to Clarke.

Perhaps it was the jolt of adrenaline at the chance of chaos, the opportunity to lose herself in a broken world, the prospect of allowing her single purpose to centre around maps, ploys, weapons, or, perhaps, it was the imperceptible entreaty of grey eyes. Either way, she found herself taking the hand, and readying herself for the pull. Before Clarke even had the rationality to comprehend her decision she was being carried briskly through the trees, all surroundings blurring into swirls of green and brown and white, and jarring with the clarity of the dark figure sitting before her.

Somewhere Clarke had conjured the image of Lexa riding into the fray of a broken Polis, slaying those opposed to her, and reclaiming the city that would be pooling with the blood of her enemies. Instead, Lexa slowed her horse and disembarked with such composure that it would have been impossible to know what inner turmoil was reigning, if indeed she was capable of inner turmoil. Their surroundings were not ruptured walls, smoking remains, or dishevelled refugees, instead they were still amongst the woods. Thicker and darker woods than Clarke had before seen. An attendant seemed to materialise from nowhere, taking the reins and leading the horse away. Peering through the shadows, Lexa’s upright figure could be made out in front of Clarke, who fell into step behind the Commander, who, in turn, was fixed upon their unknown destination. Just as Clarke’s eyes had become accustomed to the darkness Lexa had carelessly slipped through a crack in a rock face, and, as such, Clarke’s eyes had to redouble their efforts in this new blackness. Steadily light filtered into vision, the darkness turning to a heavy grey just as the walls widened and a chorus of _Hedas_ reverberated through the channels. Torches revealed either side of the walls were flanked by warriors, almost as though their sheer strength was keeping apart the two sides, each one bowing their head as Lexa strode passed, acknowledging them only in her straightened posture.

Finally the corridor led to two wooden doors, reminiscent of castle drawbridges, and it became clear to Clarke that this was no hasty retreat or makeshift hideout. This was a well-protected and calculated base. The doors were opened from the inside to reveal a frenzy of activity within the cavernous area. Carving her route through medical tents, metal forgings and smiths, tanners and textile makers, and food storage and preparation areas, Lexa acknowledged her people with minute gestures and few words. She was set on her path, and when she arrived at another door carved into the rock, she turned to Clarke, choosing her words efficiently, ‘I must enter consultations – go to the third vestibule, there is a room for you’. The doors were opened; Lexa swept through and Clarke was ushered by one of Lexa’s personal guard, who she vaguely recognised from before the Mountain. The third vestibule was long, and again Clarke was struck by the organisation of the station, or perhaps even headquarters, with numerous doors branching off from the corridor. It seemed rather too manufactured for the Trikru, too much like The Ark. It had a preciseness that Grounder settlements lacked. Slightly uneasy in the surroundings, Clarke digested everything around her, her pace quickening and her brain working overtime. She half revelled in the familiarity of the sensation of danger, the adrenaline of the unknown. There were two doors in the room: the one she entered through and another on the wall opposite – locked. She noticed the door she had entered through could be bolted from the inside and it was with her unease that she silently slid the metal across. No doubt Talla, her guide or guard, or detainer, had heard from his post outside. The room was large and well furnished, animal pelts adorned the walls and were luxuriously draped across the bed and chairs, a desk took up the far wall (though it appeared redundant with no papers spread across its top), and a chest of drawers, antique looking, was nestled in the corner by the bed. Clarke’s eyes lingered on it, out of place, in this otherwise dank space. Images of the Mountain swam before her eyes again.

Just as Clarke ran her finger along the dusty edge of the draw, about to attempt to open it, the other door, the one Clarke did not enter through, opened and Lexa swept into the room, armour in place, red sash proudly pinned under her left shoulder plate. She seemed to be momentarily disorientated, as though she was not entirely sure why she entered, and even more bemused to find Clarke. However, no sooner did this register with Clarke, than Lexa had arranged her features indifferently and surveyed the interior.

‘I trust the room is acceptable’. A statement, not a question, but Clarke answered despite this, knowing the Commander’s ways of conversing of old.

‘It’s comfortable, thank you, bigger than I expected. If this is the third vestibule, then this is quite an impressive size for a stronghold.’ Clarke kept her eyes trained on Lexa’s face, attempting to read any information that might escape from its captor’s formidable grasp.

Lexa did not counter the statement, she did not even acknowledge it, instead replying, ‘I understand if you wish to leave, and I will not stop you, I only ask that you are accompanied by Talla, and that you return to The Ark. It-’

‘The Ark? Why should I return to The Ark? What’s happening? Are they okay?’

Lexa placed her hand on the hilt of sword, running her thumb over it, cold and familiar. ‘I only suggest you return to The Ark as an alternative to not staying here. I wish you to refrain from wandering alone. It would not be wise. The Ark is safe’.

Clarke noted the protective stance Lexa had taken, her hand stilling on the hilt of her sword, cold and familiar just as its owner. ‘I understand. I have no need to return to The Ark if they are safe. Not yet’.

The final two words spilt out of their own accord and seemed to echo throughout the room. Clarke closed her eyes in frustration at her clumsiness. Distilling the suffocating atmosphere, Lexa turned her attention to the door and unbolted the lock Clarke had drawn across. She nodded once in Clarke’s direction, but did not meet her eyes before opening the door and leaving.

‘Talla, do as Clarke bids you’.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting updates out quickly while I have time, but it's likely they'll slow up. Apologies in advance for anyone following along and thank you for doing so!

A week passed with little interest. Lexa was distant, forever in and out of the room off the main court, as were many other faces that were both familiar and unrecognisable. Clarke made herself useful in the medical tents. Here were the refugees she had been expecting, bloodied and battered, but surviving being uprooted from their home at Polis. Clarke gleamed details from her snatches of conversation with them: the sudden attack, the frenzied escape, the brutal killings, the league of Ice warriors that seemed endless. These Grounders were less worn than those Clarke had been used to, seemed less cautious, and it was clear that the shattering of their peace had come at a great cost to the mentality of some. Few rested well and one or two would awake to cold sweats, replaying their memories of screams and slaughter.

The more Clarke learnt, the more impossible it seemed that Polis was engulfed by invaders. This was the capital of the Grounder territory and the bastion of their rule. Either Ice Nation had inside help, or they were juggernauts. The second theory made her stomach drop. She had seen Lexa’s army; they would not be put down easily.

The worst of the injured warriors had been scarred beyond recognition. Deep slashes carved up his sides and fire had burnt his chest and face. It was a miracle he was still alive as every laboured breath exposed fresh wounds. He had, supposedly, toppled the fire signals to form a blockade and had paid the price. His own sacrifice was said to have saved half of the refugees who were being housed in the sanctuary. He could hardly speak with his charred and smoke corrupted lungs, but would occasionally choke out ‘Water’, croaky and rough, for his parched throat. Clarke was tending to his wounds, delicately placing freshly soaked, cool, bandages over his destroyed body when Lexa stormed in. Her face was stoic as always, but an assured ferocity was apparent in those habitually unmoved eyes. Two members of her guard followed her, carrying buckets which were placed at the foot of the bed. Steam rose off of the water contained in them, curling tendrils of vapour that held a menace Clarke could not explain. Lexa nodded to them and they withdrew.

‘Clarke,’ Lexa’s tone was clipped, ‘Withdraw’.

‘I’m tending to the wounded. If he doesn’t have his fresh bandages his burns will worsen’. Clarke’s brow furrowed in confusion, here lay a brave and selfless warrior, who put his people before himself – something Lexa claimed to relate to.

‘Withdraw’.

The half snarl was almost enough to make the blonde leave, but instead she continued with her ministrations, carefully changing the bandages.

‘Stop now’, Lexa hissed out, her eyes boring into Clarke’s. The animosity in Clarke flared up. She was not answerable to Lexa, especially after all that had gone before. She was here out of… goodwill? She was here because… She was in the tent because this man was injured and she would never let another suffer for no good reason, let alone someone who had acted selflessly.

‘No. He needs medical attention’.

Lexa’s nostrils flared. Her right hand balled into a fist. For a split second Clarke was sure she would be struck by it. ‘Clarke’, the tone was lower and somewhat resigned, ‘I will do what I have to, whether you witness it or not. It is for your own benefit that I have advocated you leave’.

Clarke bit her lip. Her curiosity was piqued as she took in the still rigid stance of the Commander and the still steaming buckets of boiling water. Finally, she breathed out, ‘He’s my patient. I will stay’.

Lexa nodded firmly and motioned for Clarke to step away from the bed.

‘Laho’, Lexa addressed the man lying supine on the bed, ‘You have dared to claim your actions noble, you-’

‘ _Heda_ ’, the figure breathed out.

‘You dare to address the one whom you have betrayed’. Clarke’s eyes followed Lexa’s actions as she picked up a bucket, but her ears only heard the hypocrisy of Lexa’s words. ‘You lay amongst the wounded and have praise heaped upon you by their ignorant tongues. It is because of you that they are here’. Lexa slowly raised the bucket above the man’s chest. Almost in slow motion, Clarke saw the water pour over the edge and splash onto ruined flesh. The man writhed in agony. Clarke was sure she called out to make it stop.

‘You have devastated Polis’, another bucket.

‘You have cost lives’, a third is poured painstakingly slowly over the newly scolded flesh.

‘Endangered my people and cost me my alliance’ – the fourth and final bucket is tipped over the man’s face to ear-splintering screams.

‘You are no warrior of mine and you deserve no warrior’s death. The blood of each clan and its members will stain your hands in this war. May your spirit cry out for a peace it shall never find.’ Lexa withdrew her knife and plunged it into his neck, blood guttered out of his throat and within seconds the man had breathed his last.

 

 

Clarke pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes trying to eradicate the images that had been seared onto them. The crackle of her fire did nothing to alleviate the horrors of the day, the sound reminiscent of the hiss of boiling water on charred flesh, reigniting the dampened cinders there. Tiny stars multiplied and bothered her vision as Clarke removed the pressure and glared at the orange flashes. So much had been engulfed by flames, so much reduced to ash. The greying timbers mocked Clarke and she stood hastily to extinguish the blaze when a knock prevented her actions.

‘Who is it?’

The deep voice of Talla replied, ‘ _Heda_ ’.

Clarke dispelled a heavy breath, but automatically eased the bolt across to grant entrance into the room. No sooner had the lock disengaged, had the Commander passed in and re-bolted the door, more so out of manners than any sense of danger.

Clarke propped herself up on the desk and motioned for Lexa to take the seat by the fire.

Lexa studied the flickers briefly. ‘Thank you for allowing me to see you’, the words tumbled out imprecisely as if they had fought themselves out of Lexa’s lips. The Commander registered her lowered defences and took a more practised approach with her following words, ‘Our ways are harsh, Clarke. I know that what you witnessed today may have seemed gratuitous and I do not seek to correct that. It was. Unreasonable action was called for, which, by its twist and turns, deems it necessary and sensible. Laho has released innumerable evils, what he has manufactured has caused, and will cause, great detriment to this land and its people, _my_ people’.

Grey eyes flash in Clarke’s direction, a hint of exoneration for today’s display of the Commander’s wrath, of her cruel detachment and twisted morality. Clarke nods once and it is enough. Lexa perceives the action and looks back to the flickering light source.

‘Things are changing, Clarke.’ Lexa draws her lips in, as though another bombardment of words are gathering strength against her tongue. ‘We ebb and flow.’ The dancing flames cast solemn shades across Lexa’s face, accentuating starved eyes, seemingly blacker than when precise war paint concealed sleepless nights.

Clarke wants to declare her support. She wants to enter into obligations, pledge her people’s skills, their weapons, their technology, _their lives_ , for Lexa. In a single moment she is close to offering it all to the Commander, all because of the suggestion of flames and the insinuations they craft. She remembers the ash. Stops herself.

Lexa seems to comprehend the change in Clarke’s demeanour and stands abruptly, making her way over to the door on the far side, producing a key as she moves. The key is placed in the lock and it silently performs its function. With her hand on the door, Lexa speaks more to the threshold than to Clarke, ‘I remain the same. You must know that’.


	6. Chapter 6

If things were changing in the wider world, Clarke was frustratingly ignorant. Every day without fail, she would amble to the medical tent. Already many had been discharged and Clarke knew it was a matter of time before she was redundant. Her eyes were forever trained on the door when she was not minding the patients, clocking every movement, noting every face and instance of its creaking hinges working. She was getting in there. She had to know what was happening. If things were changing out there, she had to ensure The Ark was safe.

Engineering a distraction for the two guards on the door was no small feat. Neither was allaying the Grounder who was making his way through the now unlocked door. Despite this, Clarke had managed it. Timing was precarious, but the sabotage of the forgery had been a success and the mixed herb sedative she had concocted, and suffocated the unsuspecting Grounder with, was inspired. Clarke crept along the hall, ears straining to hear the discussion that was taking place further ahead.

‘Even if Luna convinces the Sand people, we’re still no match. Neither of their forces ar-’ Indra had stopped midsentence. Clarke’s ears pricked as she distinguished the slight metallic whisper of a sword being withdrawn from its sheath.

‘Stop’, Lexa spoke calmly, ‘Clarke, join us’.

Clarke’s brow creased in confusion as she timidly rounded the corner and into a well-lit atrium containing a vast table, abundant with maps, drawings, materials and artefacts Clarke was unable to name, and around which several chairs stood sentinel.

A familiar laugh rang around the room and Clarke struggled to locate its source before words were declared in good humour, ‘10 days… who had that on the sweepstake? Have to say, Clarke, I thought you’d be in here in a matter of hours’. Glinting dark eyes mocked Clarke playfully before they vanished in place of a hug.

‘A warrior makes no public show of affection, Octavia.’ Indra’s tone was sharp, but a slight twinge of her lips revealed it was not a severe chastisement. Octavia readily backed away despite this, bowed her head, and stood with dignity to the side of her guide.

‘Where were we?’ Another familiar voice greeted Clarke’s ears: Lincoln. Both reassuring and demoralising - she felt incapable for not being there sooner. How long had they been here? Why had she not seen them pass in and out of the door? Eyes roamed the area for a second entrance and returned to the gathered party unsuccessful.

‘Sand and Sea will not be enough,’ Lexa had resumed the discussion, ‘This is true. The River clan will be supportive, provided we offer incentive. As for the Warm ones we can hope they are neutral for the time being. No Ice representatives have been seen in their area yet.’

‘We venture there first?’

Lexa nodded once. Thumbing a map that was spread out before her, she looked just as she had in the tent before the Mountain: composed and calculated. ‘We wait for word from Leston and Aleigh first’.

The gathering waited for a single nod before dispersing. Some passing by Clarke and along the corridor she crept through; others moving in the opposite direction and disappearing behind a silk hanging. Clarke felt Lexa’s scrutiny. Her every feature was being consumed by Lexa’s insatiable search for knowledge. Attempting to obscure her confusion, annoyance, and disappointment, Clarke tried to wear the mask of indifference that Lexa had perfected. She failed. Her emotions were always written in some small way on her face like illuminations in a manuscript.

‘You only had to ask and I would have granted you free passage here. Indeed, there was no need to grant it you, you demand entrance by your very presence here’. Lexa’s tone was sincere which made Clarke’s long absence seem even more infuriating. She needn’t have engineered a ploy, destroyed a forgery, or drugged a warrior. Her actions had been those of a prisoner, not an ally. 

Clarke stammered out, but stopped her utterances. She shook her head at her own stupidity. ‘I’ve been foolish. I didn’t think – I, I’m not sure why I didn’t just-’

‘Do not stumble on obstacles that have been passed. I should have been more forthcoming, I sought only to satisfy you. I was, _am_ , fearful that my desire to involve you would suggest to you that-’

Clarke nodded. ‘I understand’. She did. She had thought, since the moment she took up Lexa’s hand, that her presence at the stronghold was tactical. She had brought down the mountain, she had weapons and technology and loyal, clever minds at her disposal. It would be a boon for Lexa to have an alliance with the Sky People. Clarke had wondered on Lexa’s words time and time again: ‘I have an alliance to honour’. The Commander was immovable on that. More recently: ‘I remain the same. You must know that’. She remained the same, of course, in that she put her people first. The same in that she would not hesitate to lure Clarke to do her bidding or employ Clarke’s strength for her own ends.

She would always remain the same.

She would always be the Commander.

Despite knowing that she was essentially another pawn in the twisted game of war and power, Clarke felt compelled to acquiesce. Her own people could be in danger and if an alliance, or a continued alliance, with Lexa dispelled that danger, then Clarke would cling to it steadfast.

‘I must keep my people safe from harm. If that harm is from the Ice Nation, then I will honour our alliance.’ Clarke’s voice took on its familiar guttural tone, the sound of words that were dredged up from a primal need to protect one’s own. Lexa had been attentive to every word and, although evidently pleased with the outcome (a resolute nod), Clarke was certain she had seen a passing wave of disappointment cross the Commander’s face.

‘Your people are safe Clarke. My warriors are stationed around the Ark, they have been there since Polis. There has been no move by rival forces towards your people.’ Clarke breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled slightly in thanks for Lexa’s effort, even though it is was likely her efforts were self-serving: protect the Sky People, protect her own people in turn. Lexa turned towards the documents on the table, her eyes cast down almost sadly and the light fashioning an almost soft look to her features. Clarke regarded the Commander’s immaculate exterior, in this light it seemed preposterous that the woman had condemned hundreds, murdered and physically tortured in front of Clarke’s eyes, issued demands and struck fear into the hearts of her enemies. It was even more laughable that Clarke’s feet had moved of their own accord closer to Lexa, and it was with a bitter realisation that the blonde blinked away her temporary amnesia and moved instead towards the papers on the table. 


	7. Chapter 7

Lexa had spent a greater amount of time with Clarke after the intrusion into the boardroom. She had painstakingly poured over maps, and plotted the Grounder territory, filling Clarke in on each and every clan: their beliefs, their manners, their strengths and weaknesses, the character of their leaders. The more Clarke learnt about the diverse clans, the more impressed she was by the feat that they had ever come together as a united twelve. Lexa really was a visionary. Although the central alliance had been shattered, Clarke felt hope that if it had been achieved once, it could be achieved again. Though, as Lexa had reprimanded her, ‘Not everyone believes in second chances, Clarke’.

Details about their foe had been sparse, and Clarke felt blind engaging in battle plans with no knowledge of the Ice Nation’s motivations or tactics. Every time she attempted to extract information from Lexa, Talla or Lincoln she was curtailed immediately. She had not even attempted to gain information from Indra or Ida. Her increasing frustration was apparent in her stance: hands jammed angrily in pockets as she paced the length of the boardroom and a scowl firmly impressed on her face whenever she was refused knowledge. The extent of Clarke’s anger was exposed when intelligence discovered a single Ice scout had been killed close to The Ark.

‘Who are they? Why are they moving in on The Ark?’ She addressed the room at large but her eyes burnt into Lexa’s, demanding answers. ‘Tell me! They are my people, they need to know what they’re up against.’

‘My people killed him. That’s an end of it.’ Lexa brushed Clarke’s questions off and turned to continue discussions with Indra about stationing combined troops close to Polis.

‘No’, Clarke broke between Indra and Lexa, pushing papers off the table to display her irritation at being ignored. ‘You don’t get to shut me off this time. I need to know.’

Indra’s hand shot to her sword. Lexa’s eyes flashed dangerously at Clarke, but the effect was offset by her locked jaw and worried gulp.

‘We reconvene this evening. Indra – you must send word to Luna about our plans’.

The room emptied slowly, many looking towards Clarke resentfully as their work had been stilled by the behaviour of a toddler. Clarke huffed at her own inability to control her reactions.

‘Look, I’m sorry, I just need to know’, Clarke spoke quietly and bent down in a hurry to pick up the papers she displaced. Ashamedly trying to gather the precious maps and sketched attacks intended to bring peace to this land, Clarke’s hand clumsily groped as she muttered further apologies unaware that Lexa had stooped to aid with tidying. Lexa’s fingers ghosted across Clarke’s and then hung, suspended in action, above Clarke’s own. That odd tingling sensation before contact gripped Clarke’s body, as though her entire ability to feel stemmed from the hand that had been mistakenly brushed by the Commander, as though every particle in the space between them buzzed. Her eyes flicked instantaneously to the Commander’s, more green than grey at their newfound closeness, as she fought the urge to extend her fingers towards Lexa’s still hovering ones. Lexa’s eyes moved first in pursuit of Clarke’s lips; Clarke could feel pupils almost willing her to part them and move closer to the Commander. Ignoring the unspoken order, Clarke looked down at their hands, pursed her lips, and closed her eyes briefly. It was enough for Lexa to have stood and gathered the papers. They were placed back on the table and she placed herself on her Commander’s chair. Safe distance had been resumed. Clarke stood slowly, consciously with her back to Lexa, and spread the papers out again.

‘The people of the Ice Nation are not fodder for a pleasant discussion. You have been eager to know of them from tongues that would want nothing more than to choke down their existence and evils than vocalise them anew.’ Lexa spoke in a measured tone, her interest firmly placed on her withdrawn knife that was forming a distraction from what, Clarke can assume, was the pain of the past, the worries of the present and the uncertainty of the future. ‘There is a long and troubling history between the Trikru and the Ice Nation. It is perhaps surprising that once we were united as one clan. When those who survived banded together to live. When we were equal partners. This was a brave new world, a hopeful one, the old ways had no bearing on it. The early days went without problem, but as numbers grew from lone pockets of survivors, so did differences in opinion.’

The prospect was familiar to Clarke. Hazy images of the dropship clouded her mind for a second. The thrill of survival and the freedom from suffocating cells, as well as the terror of group mentality and diverse personalities.

‘Two figures emerged out of the crowd as leaders. Two figures who showed the strength and reasoning to govern and assure the shaken, but resilient, people. With these two figures came two philosophies: one new and one old. One to become Commander and the other King. Governance was different for the King – wrong for many in this new world. Ruling like a feudal overlord, he sought to reward those loyal, to take a cut of produce from the toil of others. Rankings and wealth outdid skill and decency. Food was stored under the watch of guards, and tribute, or payment, was made to access it. The King would watch as the destitute begged for sustenance, prostituted themselves for survival, and stole from one another in desperation. This is the system the Ice Nation operates by. This is what the King sought to impose on my people. My predecessor did not allow it, but this condemnation was hard to implement. A civil war erupted: those in fear of the King either sided with him in their fear, or rebelled with it and joined the Commander. Those who saw the unfairness of his rule valiantly fought against him. It was a slow and slaving war, these were no warriors trained for battle but merely survivors through circumstance.’

Clarke stopped shuffling papers and turned her full attention towards Lexa. The history of the Grounders sounded eerily familiar, and it was with new eyes that she regarded the Commander. Was this the future of The Ark? Would they too fracture? Would they look towards one who would dishonour their humanity to save their flesh, as the Commander had done countless times? Perhaps they had already. Clarke was certain she had begun their route there.

‘It was a hopeless war. One that could have no victor and one that slowly eroded the wonder at survival and life. In the end, a truce was suggested. The Commander sought discussions with the King; naturally they agreed to disagree. They would separate their people: those in favour of the Commander’s rule would stay with the Commander, those in favour of the King’s would stay with the King. It was not so easy to divide land. The settlement was in a favourable location, with a high vantage point and numerous natural resources. Both wanted it; only one could have it. Perhaps I would have acted differently, and perhaps it was the then Commander’s actions that has continued the resentment between Trikru and Ice, however, it was done for wellbeing of my people, and for that I thank my forerunner. The Commander had captured the King’s daughters – twins as luck would have it – they were brought before the King. One was killed instantly and the other used as leverage. The King agreed to forfeit the land soon enough and agreed to his banishment to the most northern corner of the land - an inhospitable area, one of ice and snow, with little chance of survival. No doubt the Commander expected people to clasp to the warmth and safety of their current surroundings, that few would follow him, and that none could live amongst the chill. You have yet to experience total winter here, Clarke, many die amongst our provisions… It was a cruel demand. The King accepted it nonetheless.’

The knife continued to be turned over in Lexa’s hands. Hands that carried a responsibility to protect her people, hands that bore the actions of those that went before her and were expected to act with the agency of them still.

‘It is evident that resentment bred. As is that, miraculously, the King thrived in Ice, building a nation where many would falter and perish. Skirmishes broke out in intervening years, either side suffering innumerable losses, with no champion. Commanders lived and died in the wake of the rift. Kings changed to Queens, changed to Kings to Queens, and so on, yet still the feud continued. Its legacy poisoned and gripped each successor who wished to restore the nation to its ‘rightful’ place. The Ice Nation wants revenge, for all their losses, for their treatment, for surviving where no one should have to survive, and for their banishment from their original home. They have reclaimed Polis now, but I fear it is not enough. Do not forget their philosophy. The family privileges power, they have a greed that seeks to ensnare all and profit themselves, they have a pride that flourishes on seeing their ‘lessers’ prostrate before them.’

Clarke followed with rapt attention. Their motivations made sense, yet the knowledge that they had banded together as a member of the twelve did not. Clarke’s features must have displayed her confusion as Lexa continued on, ‘The Nation is not insular. They are aware of all that happens and their power stretches far beyond their realm. They too were damaged by the Mountain Men and saw the need to remove the threat. They begrudgingly entered into the alliance, but the enemy of my enemy is my friend. It was a necessary, but temporary, alliance for them. They are precise in all that they do and will not rush into rash actions, they thought at length on the alliance, just as it seems they thought at length about when best to take Polis - with intelligence from inside to aid that thinking. It was an opportune moment, they were aware of that. There have been too many opportune moments in recent years - under my command.’

Lexa unexpectedly ceased twisting the knife around her hands and plunged it into the armrests of her chair, gripping its hilt with white knuckles. The blade shook with the strength of her grasp. It was only the wood that entrenched the point that kept it in place.

‘Costia’, Clarke exhaled in understanding.   

‘Blood will have blood. Be it years later with the blood of a lover over the blood of a daughter. Both leaders have been injured in kind. Another score has been settled.’ A cold detachment laced Lexa’s words, spoken through gritted teeth. She had done penance for her predecessor’s conduct.

It looked as though Lexa was on the verge of a confession when Ida burst through the entry way, the silk hanging trembling in her wake. ‘ _Heda_! Leston and Aleigh have… returned’. Her hesitation made Clarke’s stomach drop - her sinking eyes confirmed it was not good news.

Lexa took up the knife and followed Ida through an intricate maze of tunnels that allowed them to exit the cave. Clarke saw the scene before her in no great detail, but it was sufficient. She bent double and retched, placing a hand on the cold wall of the tunnel for anchorage. Framed in the opening, Lexa stood upright, her knife now digging into her upper thigh, as before her a solitary horse docilely grazed the ground. Hanging either side of its head were two others, pallid and bloodied, purpled and yellowed, eyes staring unseeing at the Commander, the line of their severance decaying and already maggot infested.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get the background to the Ice Nation down and their motivations. It's straight in my head, so hoping it comes across clearly...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More or less up to where I am up to with writing, about a quarter of the way through the next part, and I reckon we're looking at about 16 or so chapters - otherwise I will just keep waffling on! Updates will perhaps we be longer with me trying to pack more things in and will probably become more sporadic. Sorry for this in advance.

The threat of Ice gripped Clarke’s nerves, sending chills up her spine. She would return to The Ark immediately and brief them on their new enemy. She would ensure weapon production was redoubled, radio communication between allies established, combat training enforced vigorously; primarily, she would maintain the safety of her people. The Commander ordered a guard to accompany Clarke, but Lexa would venture instead to the River people to lobby for an alliance, and then onto the western caves toward the Dark clan who lived among the recesses there. The Warm ones were no longer neutral, as had been confirmed by the fates of Leston and Aleigh, and this adherence to Ice forecast doom.

‘This is unlike any other conflict, Clarke. It will not be won through hasty decisions or stampedes of force. Careful words and well-timed manoeuvres must be the state of play. Remember the lines of battle will not be drawn until every clan is accounted for: Ice is not foolish enough to move without assessing the strength of its enemy or amassing its own potential. They will not be caught off-guard. Be cautious. Do not extend your trust haphazardly.’

Lexa’s words were well chosen, no excess information or room for doubt. Clarke was to sit tight until word reached her regarding the clans. Everything relied on words. Relied on talks and utterances, delicate and hollow. Easily spoken, easily overturned, words. The certainty of action would be superseded by tattle and the gloss it inevitably wears. Clarke had fallen prey to words before, her naïve ears had allowed them to comfort her anxious mind and wrap around her uneasy heart, only for them to disintegrate and corrupt everything they once touched. Her eyes found the source of such treachery and discovered its corners slightly upturned. The Commander’s half-smiles were mystifying. Part of Clarke wanted to believe it conveyed a sense of comfort or a guarantee that all would be well, while the rest saw it as a wry gesture to the futility of placing trust where it should never be placed.

‘May we meet again, Clarke’. Lexa turned slowly, eyes downcast, but head held high as she exuded the strength of the Commander. Clarke watched her mount her horse, silently give order to embark, and disappear into the woods. She had not looked back; she was on her forward trajectory. No thought would be spared for Clarke, she would now only think on the means of maintaining the alliance with the clans. Already she was collating words and arranging them perfectly. She would entice the leaders she would be holding court with by crafting her speech and delivering every syllable with finesse. She would stir emotion, pour reason into listening ears, and infuse her will on malleable hearts. She was the Commander and she would command devotion from her subjects. She would profane her opponents and refuse their rule. She would engineer it all – there was no room for carelessness.

The stronghold had been left under Indra’s careful watch, with Ida, Lincoln and Octavia likewise staying to govern the people and continue to plot movements. Lexa was joined by Ramen and Lanta, out of the inner circle of the boardroom, while Talla was accompanying Clarke with a band of twelve other warriors. Clarke’s appearance amongst the riding formation surely looked ridiculous, a lone teenager, small and light, flanked by sinuous muscle, wolfish manes and sharp eyes. For a second she doubted her own standing to be guarded so preciously by specimens that were quite clearly more physically capable than her; the blood that bumped through their veins had withstood so much. Their ancestors had survived, evolved, where so many had failed. Who was Clarke in comparison? Precious cargo that had been safeguarded out of harm’s way while everything burnt. Clarke scoffed audibly catching the attention of her closest guards; their eyes dutifully cast themselves over her to ensure she was well, yet their questions went unsaid out of respect. Clarke didn’t care for appearances and as much as she appreciated the Grounder respect, it was something she could go without. She may look ridiculous, but what any onlooker would fail to know was that she was a girl with blood on her hands. She had charred hundreds and condemned the innocent to protect her own and she would do it again. She was sure she would do it again without hesitation. 

The first visible sighting of the Grounders that were protecting The Ark was arresting. The sheer number of them and the rigidity with which they stood sentinel was surprising for Clarke, she had assumed there would be a few warriors lurking in the trees, not the picket fence of bodies that formed a physical barrier to any approaching threat. Their behaviour on Clarke’s approach was more astounding still: bowed heads in deference to her authority as she passed. A further line was stationed closer to The Ark and again the same parting of the troops for the party to pass through and the same respect were shown. Lexa had been forceful with her commands; the protection of The Ark was failsafe. No wonder she had not appeared perturbed by the lone Ice Scout. Warriors were stationed in small pockets as the trees thinned out and the glinting silver of The Ark began to catch Clarke’s eyes.

If the overwhelming presence of the Grounders had surprised Clarke earlier, it was soon surpassed as her eyes swept The Ark. The Grounders had not stayed outside the electric fence; they seemed firmly established within the community. New structures had been built within The Ark’s boundaries that bore a distinct Grounder feel, yet in and out of them moved her own people. This was the alliance at work. The Ark looked strong. Trenches had been dug into the ground, sheaths of metal covering them, camouflaged with sparse layers of soil, to form shelter from arrow or other air strikes. Lookout towers had been erected, from which broadcasting aerials protruded further into the skyline.

‘Clarke!’ Bellamy emerged from one of the new buildings, ‘Like what we did with the place?’

‘Huh, I… wasn’t expecting this’, Clarke looked again at the scene before her nodding in approval at the preparations in place.

‘When Lincoln heard about Polis and the Grounders started lookout for us, we figured we should get on it. These Ice Nationers don’t sound all that warm’, Bellamy smirked, as usual falling back on poor humour to mask his worries, ‘Seriously though, Clarke, it’s good to have you back. Kane has backed us, but your mom? She doesn’t think we should get mixed up in this.’

‘We’ve been mixed up with this craziness the moment we touched down’, Raven descended from the lookout tower to the left of Clarke and soon engulfed her in a hug, ‘So what’s the plan, plangirl?’

Having established that weapon production would be redoubled, communication between allies was the next concern. Raven had hijacked the Mountain’s resources, but without a continually functioning generator, she had limited use for it. There were, however, numerous walkie-talkies which would enable communication - though with great distances between clans, bases would need to be set up and signals boosted. The most important line of communication was between the boardroom back at the stronghold and The Ark. Bellamy and Raven would join Clarke on her return to the base in order to begin work on the system. Clarke was resolute about her return - The Ark was well fortified, and once communication was in place it would be even more formidable. She could do no more there and waiting around for word from the Commander’s delegation would be mind-numbing.

 

 

Lexa whisked into the boardroom. Her arrival had not been expected yet the party was soon assembled. It had been a week since Clarke had returned to the stronghold with Raven and Bellamy, two since any sight or word from the Commander. Clarke could not control the slight flutter in her chest at seeing Lexa safely returned, she offered a smile but was not even granted a look. Lexa’s eyes were thunderously scanning the room.

‘They have a network of spies across every clan,’ she barked out, nostrils flaring with her intent to destroy each and every one. ‘They are communicating in their own language, in code, writing down all they see and hear’. She flung a piece of parchment on the desk which was hastily crowded around. Clarke could make no sense of it. Symbols and flourishes of ink were crammed onto the space, none, as she could glimpse, having any physical relation to what was being detailed. Clarke was about to enquire how the message was relayed back to the Ice Nation, yet all thought disappeared as, in one fluid motion, Lexa had made it to Ida and taken a knife to the woman’s throat. The room was silently transfixed. Skin was pierced and a small tributary of blood ran down the length of Ida’s neck.

‘You can read it.’ Lexa threw the words into Ida’s ear amidst her pleadings to be freed. ‘When everyone else regarded the parchment from left to right, you did so vertically, moving from top to bottom. You can read it.’ Lexa twisted the knife slowly into the flesh extorting a stifled whimper.

‘Take her shoes off’. The Commander’s request was so out of place that no one moved. ‘Take her shoes off!’

Talla scrambled to Ida and bent to remove her boots, receiving a kick in the face from the imprisoned woman. Lexa growled, burying the knife in further, ‘Talla will remove your shoes, or he will cut your feet off. I shall see them either way.’

Ida’s protestations fell silent and she stood as though all fight had fled her body. Talla removed one shoe. ‘Lift her foot up, inspect her sole’, the Commander ordered roughly, her eyes were overtaken by the events, already seeing what she expected to be there.

‘There is nothing, _Heda_ ’, Talla offered, his tone betraying his regret for the fact.

‘Remove the other.’

There was something there. A marking on the sole. A small solitary tattoo no bigger than a thumb nail. A sword in blue ink.

Lexa smiled. Not the smile of knowledge, of being correct in her suspicions, but a smile of sadistic pleasure. Her eyes were alight with the triumph of punishment soon to be inflicted on this woman. They were aflame with details she could extract from bloodied lips under coercion.

‘Talla, remove them both still’. The order was given airily, yet it was followed earnestly as Talla withdrew his blade.

Clarke watched as though she were overlooking an everyday occurrence. Bellamy gritted his teeth and steeled his eyes. Raven made no attempt to hide her morbid fascination and intense disgust.

‘Indra and Lincoln, drag her down to Cell 210’. Lexa waited until both had a solid grip on the prisoner, whose knees buckled without her supporting appendages, before relinquishing her hold. She stood in front Ida, her chin raised and her face indifferent, and lifted the woman’s own chin continuing the line made earlier with her knife across the length of her throat. She flicked the blade and made a second scoring to form a crimson cross: Ida would not convey any word to Ice again.

Lexa sat at the table, gripping the parchment, her fists shaking. Bellamy and Raven made excuses to leave, while Octavia, Ramen and Lanta formally waited for orders. Clarke coughed to shake Lexa’s reverie, eyes that stared at nonsensical characters refocused on her before surveying the room at large.

‘Ramen and Lanta rest – you are wearied from travel. Octavia, find Lincoln and together seek out a scripter. There were many in Polis, it is likely there will be some within these walls.’ Octavia silently attended to her orders, leaving Clarke wondering whether she should have excused herself with Bellamy and Raven.

Lexa’s eyes returned to the paper. Her anger had subsided, the public show of power and brutality had played out, and the Commander was now left with her own thoughts. Clarke recognised the same deflation Lexa displayed when she had spoken about her failings in the woods, the same eyes laced with guilt as when she had spoken of her time as Commander so far. Lexa pulled in her lips and worried at her bottom one with her teeth, her eyebrows had risen out of, what appeared to be, disbelief or deprivation. Clarke sensed this was an intrusion, yet she had not been asked to leave. Words evaded her as she struggled to articulate an appropriate response – now was no time for further enquiry, nor the time to brief Lexa on what had been established at the Ark and stronghold. Reassurances and soft words seemed out of place, well outside of Clarke’s remit to offer. To leave the boardroom would have been a retreat, yet she had not been asked to stay. Clarke took in the sight of Lexa again, a lone figure bent over a single sheet of paper that signified ruin for her people, and moved silently around the table, drawing out the chair next to Lexa and silently placing herself on it. A ruin for Lexa’s people would be a ruin for hers also.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longish update - sorry if you find it ploddy.

It took two days for Ida to yield and a further day for one of the captives from the River clan to disperse his secrets. The sword marking signified the status of ‘knight’ and when Ice Nation had been restored to its full glory the tattoo would ensure the bravery of these agents was rewarded. They had been hand chosen by the Queen, and the King before her, for this work, though some had never met her; they had been bent by her promises of wealth and abundance. They were to be given special treatment, numerous riches, and residence within the same walls as the royal family. The Blue Knights were supposedly small in number, roughly two or three for each clan, and even they were unknown to each other. Allegedly unmarked spies were at work, hoping for pay off later by providing evidence for their endeavours. The means of communication was also explained: the letters were left at indicated drop points which were checked at regular intervals by information scouts.

At the news of the Blue Knights every member of the inner circle wordlessly removed their shoes to declare their unswerving loyalty to their Commander. Octavia had done so likewise, and it surprised Clarke to see Bellamy and Raven do the same, as if they too had become Lexa’s warriors. Clarke stood motionless, unwilling, but Lexa’s customary glance in her direction did not suggest that it was necessary for Clarke to reveal her soles.

‘We check everyone here immediately’, Indra forcefully turned to Octavia, as though she expected her to gather the people within the stronghold and begin inspection. There were muted nods of approval from the room, yet Lexa looked thoughtful.

The move would be too bold, by the time word got round they were checking feet the information that they had uncovered agents could escape, ‘No, that could leak our intelligence of it’, Clarke spoke up, ‘Besides, if there are unmarked spies they’ll know about the mark, they must have heard about the rewards in order for them to risk themselves in that way. If they find out we know about them, they could easily deliver the information and be paid for their efforts.’

Indra’s eyes regarded Clarke coldly, ‘You would have us do nothing while our foes work beneath our noses?’

‘No… I just think it’s more dangerous to reveal our knowledge in this way. Ida was one Blue Knight with one ascribed drop point, but what if there are others? They can report that we know, and right now this the only thing we have over them. Once the writing is decoded it can be used, we can feed them false information.’

Lexa stood beside Clarke, a clear sign to the room that she was in agreement, ‘Clarke speaks with foresight. We must be careful with our actions. Ida has told us her drop point and if her assumptions are correct about the scout checks we have two days. Copies of the parchment have been made by a scriptor,’ Indra made to interrupt, ‘who has now been interned lest he was an unmarked spy.’ Indra looked placated with this knowledge as Lexa continued, ‘A copy has been sent to The Ark where Monty’, Lexa watched Clarke for assurance she had the correct name, ‘is using Sky technology to decode it.’

‘What we need’, Bellamy followed on, the inkling of a plan sparking about his eyes, ‘is a way of getting people’s feet out without them knowing our need to see them’. If Indra had looked coldly at Clarke, she now looked sub-zero. Bellamy stated the obvious. Realising this he raced on, ‘Come on, so the guys who sent a viral infection to us, can’t come up with some skin eating disease that requires everyone to get medically checked and remove their shoes?’

Lincoln laughed, ‘You have a point there, but this isn’t the Ark or the Mountain, we have not catalogued everyone in here. There are unfamiliar refugees from Polis and think about how many of us are stationed by The Ark. If we do this, it can surely only be undertaken systematically within these walls and even then...’

Lexa nodded in agreement, ‘We do it here because we can. We shall concern ourselves about the warriors at The Ark later, there is little intelligence they can gleam there regarding our movements. The radio is only accessible to a select few.’

Raven nodded, ‘Absolutely, but I wouldn’t say we can’t rule out the skin trick at The Ark. A little hint of a virus and I’m sure Abby and Kane would get screenings done pronto.’

 

 

A public show of Ramen’s entrance into the medical tent was made. Screams of pain bellowed from his lungs as his stretcher was carried through the tunnels and across the length of the central cavern. Word began to spread that his travels with the Commander’s party to the east had caused an infection. Lanta acted his part supremely well as a second victim was entered into the healer’s care. An hour later Ramen was discharged, a woven cover placed over his body, yet an arm and foot hung limply exposed as the stretcher passed through. A boar’s entrails provided the appearance of corrupted flesh and observers turned their faces away in repulsion. Within twenty minutes a decree had been made: everyone was to undergo an observation for symptoms of the disease in a newly erected tent and no one was to be admitted to the medical tent until the danger of infection had passed. Obediently a line began to form at the assessment area, Lexa stood over proceedings personally as individual after individual entered the tent, bowing heads reverentially under her dominating watch.

After six hours it appeared everyone had been seen and no markings were found. Clarke sighed in relief, but Lexa and Indra, on the contrary, wore discontented frowns. Logically the highest number of knights would be placed among Lexa’s people, and if only one was found in the stronghold, then surely Lexa’s armies were riddled with them… Or perhaps more unmarked spies were amongst them in the stronghold, perhaps even within the inner circle. Clarke caught Lexa’s eye and saw the restless cycle of doubt and rage pulsating behind them. The Commander’s stumble was quickly rectified as Bellamy ran through the last few dispersing Grounders from the checks, ‘Clarke! Monty’s got it - he’s translated the letter. He needs more samples to get a working vocabulary, but he’s got it!’

Clarke smiled, moving closer to Lexa, ‘This is good. Do we have enough to write a reply?’ Bellamy nodded enthusiastically and Clarke allowed herself to place a triumphant hand on Lexa’s upper arm. The Commander re-angled herself towards Clarke, shoulders touching.

‘We must decide our course of action. Misdirection and pretence will become our lifeblood. We need to be ahead of Ice’, Lexa addressed the few members of the core group who were present, her eyes motioning towards the boardroom for further discussion. Bellamy, Indra and Talla nodded solemnly and disbanded to locate the others. Clarke began to withdraw her hand but Lexa seized upon it holding it in place, ‘Clarke, what I am about to suggest is hazardous, some might say reckless; however, this is my opportune moment and success can be found in it.’ Lexa’s eyes roamed Clarke’s features, a constant back and forth of green search lights, ‘I understand your priority is your people, if you feel that priority is best fulfilled by staying here, or the Ark, then you must. Do not feel compelled to venture beside me to safeguard them, know that they are also in my thoughts, and that under this alliance I do my upmost for them as well as my own.’ Nomadic eyes fixed themselves onto Clarke’s, anchoring themselves to them, and Clarke could only allow her own blue ones to fasten on likewise, immoveable, ‘I know you do not trust me, but know that my heart is not fickle, Clarke’. Lexa’s thumb ran the length of Clarke’s hand before she released her hold and advanced towards the boardroom.

 

 

The boardroom held an unfamiliar tension, the security of the Trikru, or indeed all those aligned with them, rested upon the commands that would fall from severe lips. Ploys and details that had been played over and over within the darkness of the Commander’s mind, schemes and attacks that had been born out of years of resentment, would be forced hastily into daylight.

‘We have the knowledge to manufacture false letters to Ice. We can produce two that corroborate our movements: one shall be left at Ida’s drop point and another at the area the River Clan knight used. These letters will detail our movement towards Polis. They will suggest we are mobilising troops to take back the citadel. We shall play our usual tactics - we release the virus into Polis. It is something Ice Nation know we do, though we have not exposed them to it for some years, it will show that we are preparing for battle. We will send a single wave of warriors to the city, but create the impression that it is only the initial stage of an attack. One letter will make a rough estimate of numbers approaching Polis, numbers we will not despatch, but which will unsettle cold hearts. As our warriors strike at Polis, our real forces will move upon the Ice Kingdom’, there was a shuffling of feet in the room, either from the worrying magnitude of this undertaking or from the excitement of engaging in it. ‘It will be a surprise to them. They will have drawn extra strength away from their home towards Polis in anticipation of our attack, where already they have great numbers to safeguard the Queen. The Kingdom will largely have a civilian presence, though members of the royal family remain there – undoubtedly, the battle will be fierce. No life will be spared, be it royal blood or common blood. This is war.’ Indra nodded. Clarke’s hands balled into fists, more innocent lives taken, if there were such a thing as innocence on this Earth. Sheer survival on it made humanity guilty, all were implicated by the actions of their leaders and ancestors. ‘Taking the Kingdom will level the score: they took our home, we take theirs. Tactically, it would allow for a second attack on their closest ally. Naturally, the Shadow people will be our unpredictable element. Once word escapes that we have control of the Kingdom they will likely launch an attack, or they will become the base for Ice to launch from, being their closest neighbour. If we can subdue them quickly, before Ice moves, we will be in a favourable position. The journey to the Kingdom will take at least two weeks and moving our forces will be a vast undertaking. We will need to be careful so as not to arouse suspicion. We levy warriors from River, Sand, Sea and from Luna’s people. We pass by the Dark Clan, who we did not reach on our latest travels and we will visit with the aim of seeking their continued alliance and aid. The Cloud people are also located just east of Ice and we shall divert there before joining our amassed troops for the push to the Kingdom. We will draw Ice away from Polis and move on that in their absence. It will be on a frozen battleground that blood will out.’

The room was silent. Clarke’s pulse raced erratically as she sought to comprehend the plan. Ramen spoke first, bowing his head and lowering his shoulders before Lexa, ‘ _Jus drein jus daun_ , _Heda_. It would be an honour to lead the wave at Polis’. Clarke saw it then, the nobility of the Commander in action. Lexa had not needed to order him, had not called for volunteers, yet here was her solider bowed before her selflessly offering his life, and those of his warriors. It was a suicide mission. They could not be victorious. Lexa bowed her head in return and walked towards Ramen placing a steady hand on his shoulder.

‘Your spirit is strong, Ramen, and I am thankful for it,’ Lexa turned to address Raven, ‘You need to ensure that communication can happen between the parties moving towards Ice and Ramen’s force towards Polis. If something is to go awry we must know immediately. Indra, our recent attack plans’, Indra maintained her hard stare, straightening her back in expectation of military instruction, ‘will need refining, but our primary concern will be outfitting and arms. Lincoln and Octavia, we will draft letters presently and you will take them to the Ark to be translated by Monty. They will have to be written in the hands of those who normally pen them, and, as such, this must be strictly observed so no changes take place to them. You will need to have the letters back here within six hours so that they can be copied and deposited at their locations for Ice to find.’ Lexa’s methodical orders produced a quiet mood, yet still Clarke could not calm her rushing pulse. The machinations of war had spiralled, the weeks of diplomacy, of talk and waiting, had built to a crescendo and Clarke could tell that once the party disbanded the grip that Lexa had on proceedings would crumble. Everything would be done in motion, decisions made on the move, reactive and rash. The time for meditated carefulness was over. ‘I seek to consult with Clarke before composing them. Examine plans in my absence - we will need several routes to converge on the Kingdom and to distribute numbers, only four have been plotted.’ Lanta and Lincoln conscientiously began to study the documents on the table, Indra nodded and left, as did Bellamy and Raven. The briefing was over, the action begun. 

Lexa moved towards the red curtain and looked over her shoulder to Clarke, indicating for her to follow. It was with leaden legs that Clarke did so. Decisions would need to be made. They wound a convoluted route through the passages until they reached a door, at which Lexa withdrew a key to unlock it. The room was sparsely furnished. A bed with furs pressed against the rock, a rough table displayed maps in the centre of the room, a second door was shut by the hearth, and hung on the walls were a miscellany of weapons and armour. Lexa moved to the dim fire, withdrew her sword to stoke the fading embers and stir the slowly burning timbres back into life. It dawned on Clarke that this was Lexa’s chamber and the awareness did nothing to quell the sense of expectation in the pit of her stomach. Lexa formally arranged herself by the fire as if sensing Clarke’s unease, ‘I understand I have not given you much time to muse on the plan, but I did not want to deliver any further instruction without establishing your actions.’

‘My people are aligned with your people, Lexa. We support your stance.’ Clarke met Lexa’s formality in kind.

Lexa’s brow furrowed minutely, ‘I am glad to hear the alliance is maintained… I seek to confirm your personal involvement in the efforts’, Lexa looked to the fire, its flames reflecting in her eyes as a reminder of the destruction she would soon see with them, ‘where will you station yourself?’

A jolt of uncertainty seized Clarke. Her throat went dry as if protesting against the answer she would supply. She swallowed, ‘I will be stationed where I am needed most’.

Eyes broke away from flames and flashed over Clarke’s features. Lexa hesitated in her position, shifting her weight forward and backward before she moved closer towards Clarke at the table. She began toying with the corner of a map there, distracting herself from their conversation, ‘and where is that, Clarke?’

‘Where I am most helpful to the protection of my people.’ Clarke stumbled over her words, she titled her head away from Lexa’s prying eyes, ‘the Ark is safe, for the moment, I am not needed there, I would be where I can help keep them in that state, and informed of any threat to their safety. I would…’ Clarke trailed off as Lexa moved closer still, she could feel the Commander’s exhalations on her skin.

‘You would be where you are needed most,’ Lexa reaffirmed, though a slight change in pitch made the statement sound more like a question.

‘Yes. My people need me to act in their best interests; I believe that it would be best to follow the plan with the Kingdom, to accompany you there, to curtail the strength of the Nation.’ Clarke spoke quickly, not wholly certain of her decision. ‘Where would you have me?’

A steady wave of air hit the back of Clarke’s neck as though Lexa had held it suspended while Clarke spoke. ‘I would have you with me.’ The words fell softly, whispered carefully as if they could be retracted more easily with less volume, less force.

Clarke’s throat continued its protestations. Muscles laboured to swallow and she found herself nodding slowly instead of uttering a reply. She did not turn to face Lexa despite the frantic beating of her heart. Lexa remained silently in place, longer than necessary, as if waiting for Clarke to pivot; when no move was made, she stepped back, an influx of cold air circulating the space around Clarke and producing a shiver. The sound of a key turning drew Clarke away from the map she had been staring at to avoid Lexa’s eyes. It was the door by the fire and Lexa stood to the side in suggestion that Clarke should pass through. Clarke headed towards it and paused at the threshold to regard the Commander: she had resumed a certain formality again, though her eyes were still to harden.

‘Thank you’, Lexa’s tone was sincere though her lips moved awkwardly around the sounds, ‘for your people’s continued alliance with mine. For you with me.’ Before Clarke could answer Lexa had saluted a farewell with an inclined head and exited out of the other door. Clarke turned to the doorway she was standing in, now noting where it led to, and found herself in her chamber. She looked back at the newly opened door, the one she had wondered about since arriving at the stronghold, and found the key had been left in its lock.


	10. Chapter 10

The sixth day of travel increased Clarke’s building nerves. There was too much time to question decisions; too much silence to allow doubt to creep in amongst the plan. Steady footfall did nothing to alleviate anxiety, the call for arms and action was delayed by their slow progress across the land. There was no heady surge towards the enemy as there had been at the Mountain, only a concentrated effort to move and keep moving until the time to rally came. Imperceptibly, terrain was changing. Clarke had not been aware as her eyes raked the ground, eyes falling almost into a trance, watching the repetitive motion of left foot, right foot, again and again, yet the ground had changed gradually. They were no longer on moss covered soil, leaves and twigs did not crunch as they padded their way closer to their destination. Instead, frosted grass was accompanied by the snap of thin ice sheets over soil.

Hazes of breath clung about the party as the cold set in. Setting up camp was welcome relief from trudging forward, but with each night temperatures dropped until the thought of ceasing movement, and the heat generated with it, had Clarke wishing they could continue their journey in the dark hours. There were few in their party, less than Clarke had assumed there would be, numbering sixteen in total, but this was fortunate as pitching tents allowed for many to be close to the fire. It had not gone unnoticed by Clarke that her tent was one that was always erected closest to the fire, nor did it that the Commander’s tent would be positioned set back from hers, as if forming a protective barrier to the chilling wind that whipped around the camp or any outside danger.

News from other parties, both similarly sized and four times larger, came when Raven communicated back to the Ark (where Monty manned communication from the stronghold). Each party had a radio that was operated by volunteers from the Ark who knew how to use it, signal would be patchy for most, but Raven had assembled a piece of kit that would ensure their band, at least, could always contact base. Similar to devices seen in greying footage of The Great War, Raven carried the metallic box on her back, and, whenever the time to ‘tune in’ came, would spend minutes tinkering with dials and extending an aerial. Seemingly Ice had received the artificial letters and had begun fortifying Polis; Trikru scouts confirmed that troops from the Shadow people had been seen moving towards the city. The virus would be released into Polis in three days – its host was incubating it nicely. Additionally, four parties had stationed themselves within two days’ travel from the Nation already, having taken more direct routes, and were awaiting smaller numbers and the transportation of surplus arms and armoury from the stronghold. The plan was executing itself just as Lexa had orchestrated.

Lexa was distant while journeying. Eyes once again concealed by black war-paint continuously scanned the surrounding area and occasionally sought out blue ones across the evening fire. Her straight back showed no sign of fatigue and a hand was forever placed on the hilt of her sword - should the need to withdraw it arise. Pleasantries were spoken most mornings as Lexa enquired after Clarke’s sleep, her health and warmth, but other than that the Commander had removed herself from conversation. It fell to Bellamy and Raven to pass Clarke’s time when marching onwards; nonsensical conversations and Ark nostalgia fell on deaf ears mostly as Clarke channelled the energy to move forward, visualised worries in the back of her mind and surveyed Lexa’s form ahead.

Somewhere between studying the satisfying sound of ice cracking under her footfall, along with the delicate paths that raced through the glassy sheet with such impact, and casting her triangular glance from Bellamy, Raven and Lexa, eyes sticking on the latter for the longest, Clarke had missed their steady movement to the left, and their journey through less sheltered terrain. The party came to an abrupt halt. Many Grounders placed themselves into a circle formation, and Clarke noticed that they were at the entrance of a cave. This was the Dark Clan’s settlement, a deep and intricate maze of tunnels and chasms that housed survivors who were weak to the sun’s glare. Clarke recalled the hours Lexa had sat with her in the boardroom, mapping the land and detailing the features of the twelve clans who had once been united as one, no sense of urgency in her voice and a slightly delicate lilt to her tone the longer they sat. Now Lexa’s voice was efficient, clipped, as she instructed her warriors to stand guard and motioned for two to join her inside.

‘Wait!’ Clarke clumsily moved forwards, the cold in her bones slowing her joints, ‘I’m coming’.

Lexa turned back to face her, emotionless, and for a second Clarke was transported to a different scene: one with the same Lexa, the same empty look, but with blood smeared across her face. Only briefly, because Lexa had nodded with her eyes and then ordered Talla to join also. Bellamy made to follow, though a shake of Clarke’s head stopped him from entering the cave, ‘They could do with a gun out here, Bellamy’. He looked uncertain, though stood sentinel at the opening, looking every inch the loyal second.

If Clarke’s eyes had struggled with the dark recesses of the stronghold, now they failed completely. Blackness descended on them quickly like the sudden turning off of a lamp. Squinting made little difference, neither did widening her eyes. She blindly stumbled onwards, her ears straining to compensate for the loss of sight. Feet shuffled along steadily declining ground. Despite the cool surroundings it felt warmer than outside, though Clarke could not stop the prickle of hairs raising along her arms and at the nape of her neck. She was unable to shut out the sensation of being watched. Her legs began to disconnect from her head as each foot heavily placed itself on unseen ground, as though she was now fragmented. Different parts were moving independently of the whole. She felt dismembered. Clarke faltered, aware only of the air around her brushing her face as she did so - then the ground her palms found. It jerked her back to her faculties, reconnected her with her limbs, as she felt her way across the flat expanse. A hand found her back and then traced along her arm until it found her hand. It stilled momentarily before running itself over Clarke’s knuckles, almost familiarly. It was, without question, Lexa’s. Clarke blindly captured it as Lexa’s other hand came to support her back and a forceful tug realigned her onto her feet. Clarke straightened herself to full height, lifting her head, her cheek brushed against Lexa’s in the obscurity of darkness and Clarke realised how her body pressed into Lexa now she had corrected her stance once more. The Commander made no move, apart from turning her face; Clarke felt the tip of her nose draw a line across her cheek to her ear. Lips brushed against it so that the sound of Clarke’s pulse overtook the words. The action was repeated, ‘Clarke, are you hurt?’ Clarke shook her head producing another whooshing in her ears as flesh brushed against Lexa’s lips in the process.

‘Good’. Lexa moved away from Clarke, though her hand remained enclosed around Clarke’s.

‘How are we meant to find them?’ Clarke breathed out shakily, uncertain of whether her voice would betray her still quickened pulse, or whether her volume would not be welcomed in their current setting.

‘We aren’t,’ Lexa replied soundly, her volume louder than her question earlier, ‘they’ll find us. We are being tracked, monitored, to see if we are allies. They could have killed us the moment we stepped into the dark. The panel will have been informed of our entrance.’

They continued in silence. Lexa’s hand guiding Clarke forward, until it was slowly released as the Commander paused. There was movement next to Clarke and the swirling of air was suggestive that Lexa had moved downwards, another rush of air confirmed that Lexa was upright again. Clarke internally berated the lack of light and darkness’ ability to hide the Commander’s deferential position.

‘Lexa’, a voice rang out in the darkness, ‘it has been some time.’

‘Indeed, and I regret that circumstances are not more fortunate.’

Another voice to the right answered, ‘Circumstances are never fortunate when you are involved, Commander.’ It sneered into the darkness and Clarke did not like the picture she had conjured of its owner.

‘Forces conspire against us all and leave no time for fortune. I believe you will know about the Ice Nation.’ Lexa made a levelled reply.

Yet again a different voice replied, ‘Yes, they have taken your jewel, have they not? What of it?’

‘They have taken Polis, yes. Need I not remind you of their ploys for power, from there they will be well fortified to seize the land. Do not assume they will stop with me. This is no personal grievance.’

‘It is entirely personal’, the jeering speaker cut in immediately, ‘it always has been and always will be. I do not hope you seek support from us.’ It laughed cruelly with the echoes carrying it into the distance and back again.

Clarke could sense Lexa’s tense jaw. ‘Of course I have. You forget the alliance of the twelve clans. You forget the premise of all I stand for. This is the first move by Ice, the first and most important, as personal grievances always are. It brings licence to their actions, but it will not end with me and my people. Ice will not be so easily satisfied. Rage and greed are not satiated.’

The first voice made a noise of agreement, ‘They are powerful and I have witnessed their ways from afar. They are no friendly neighbour to us, though they have done no harm. I do not see what part we can play in this. They have not sought us out.’

‘They have not sought you out because they underestimate your ability. You are close geographically, but they believe you to be weaker specimens.’ A voice made to interrupt, but Lexa continued forcefully, ‘you cannot deny it. I know they have enslaved your people in the past, kept them in the shadows of their palaces to toil away at fashioning building blocks. It is reported that the exhaustion of your people has created the most recent additions to their complex. How many have failed to return from your nightly hunts?’

There was silence before the third speaker replied, ‘three this last year, five before then. We assumed them dead.’

Clarke pictured the flash of success in Lexa’s eyes as she spoke, ‘you assumed wrong. They live on, though it would have been more merciful that they died. Ice sees you as nothing more than a tool for their empire. The work is too menial for their own. You provide them with subordinates that can be hidden away from the glare of the sun, you can work when all others require its warming rays in this cold land. It is a favourable position for them. Of course they have not sought you out, they have no need to when they can take their choice of you once darkness sets in. There are traps in the forest - they do not even waste warriors on you.’

The first voice spoke quietly, ‘I have seen traps, and never once considered it was for us. I believed they too hunted these grounds in the day, I often saw deer caught in them when I ventured out…’ There was a brief pause before the voice pressed on, hardened, ‘They have not taken many of us. Now we are aware we will be more cautious. In my younger days I would not have hesitated to pledge support, yet, as it stands, I see no use in our involvement. We would be more endangered by an alliance with you.’

Lexa laughed, a hollow laugh that made Clarke shiver uncomfortably. It felt foreign. ‘If that it is your decision you confirm everything that Ice assumes of you. When Ice capture the land they will expand further, destroy settlements and rebuild. They will come for you. No, they will wait for you one by one, there will be no need to rush without opposition to snatch their power away; they will wait for you, one by one, and slowly empty this hole of yours, until, before you know it, you will either rot in here, starving, or grind your bones to death producing materials for them. Heed my warning. I offer my assistance to you, and extend my gratitude in thanks for any service you can offer me in stopping their forces, but if you refuse to honour our alliance my people shall never provide aid for yours.’

The back of Lexa’s hand brushed against Clarke’s in her motion; she had turned to leave. ‘Wait’, the second voice called out, ‘I am not suggesting we ally with you, but, out of interest, what part could we play?’

‘An important one. I recognise your strength. You see when our weak eyes disable any action. You are swift under the cover of darkness and create sound only when you intend to. These are admirable qualities. Far superior to Ice.’ Lexa showered them with golden words, words that felt like silk against skin. Her tone took on an almost alluring quality and Clarke found her throat going dry and a soft whooshing in her ears again. ‘Superior to my own abilities and those of my most capable warriors. With such skills, you would form the first offensive – under dark you would silently remove the first line of resistance. No alarm would be raised. Slowly and carefully, guard by guard, and watch tower by watch tower, their protections would fall. As the sun rises, you would withdraw and my forces will enter with the Nation unaware of our presence. I would ask you to do no more. One night is all that is necessary’.

Clarke nodded in agreement, although she was entirely unaware of this plan. It made sense to attack under the cover darkness. Even more so that strategic defences be taken out first and with as little awareness from Ice as possible. There was a lengthy silence. No sound betrayed any action, but Clarke was certain the speakers were conferring through looks and gestures.

Finally, ‘You have an alliance, Lexa, for a night and one day only. Our night services and, in the day, yours for our people. You return them to us the moment you capture the Nation’.

‘I will send word of when to act’, Lexa concluded discussion. Her hand brushed against Clarke’s twice more before she took it up again and turned back the way they had entered.

Clarke was momentarily blinded by the light as they resurfaced from the cavern. The cold wind struck against her face and she shivered to be exposed to the elements once more. Bellamy turned quickly, questions forming on his lips, but he was silenced by Lexa, ‘We have support from the Dark Clan for one night only. We shall speak more of this later. For now, we must make for the clouds’. Ranks closed in again as they moved off, they would not make it there today, but would move further north for the conference with the Cloud people and then, finally, veer right for the Nation. The journey was gathering momentum and Clarke felt her stomach lurch; soon she would be blood stained and ruthless. Her hand was squeezed and Clarke was met by green eyes, oddly reassuring, and then a light smile. Lexa nodded and started to release Clarke’s hand now they were back in the light. Clarke’s stomach flipped. There was something comforting in the solidarity of Lexa’s hand. She grasped it back, earning nothing but a raised eyebrow and the warmth of the Commander’s palm until it was time to stop for nightfall.

 

 

The following day’s trek resumed the usual order. Lexa spearheaded the company with her flank of warriors surrounding her and bringing up behind the rear where Clarke, Bellamy and Raven trawled along. Occasionally Lexa would glance backwards, catching Clarke’s eye and inclining her head politely before refocusing her attention on the route ahead. Their path surged upwards. Calves burned with the effort of pushing Clarke’s body forward and her lungs burned likewise as the air around them thinned. Breaths clung and gathered themselves around the party, the vapour in them instantly crystallising into tiny specks of ice which redoubled its strength to hit against Clarke’s face as she travelled onwards. They staggered upwards until reaching levelled ground. The plateau offered little comfort as the mist settled in, forcing coughs from inadequate lungs. Clarke doubled over to take in shallow breaths. Peering through the grey veil, Clarke suddenly saw it. Carved into the rock face was an ornate building like a Grecian temple. Bellamy’s eyes bulged with the realisation, here was the setting of the stories he had consumed as a child, here was Zeus’ kingdom. He let out a shaky laugh and Raven slapped him on the shoulder, a smile breaking across her face, giddy from the climb and lack of oxygen in the air. A hand splayed itself against Clarke’s black and she straightened herself to look at its owner: Lexa.

‘This one will not be straightforward, but it must be tried’, Lexa’s eyes looked sceptically at the building. Clarke moved to press her arm against Lexa’s in an attempt to raise the Commander’s spirits before moving towards the temple.

Two soldiers stood at the entrance, but neither made to withdraw a weapon. They did not register the party’s presence, but remained emotionless staring forward into the grim clouds. Clarke’s footsteps echoed behind Lexa’s, and combined with the sound of the fourteen other members of the band, any tranquillity that the building held was ruptured. Lexa remained stoic, though Clarke shuddered at the noise, and continued to advance further inside. They found themselves in a central hall; tall gold columns propped up a ceiling that was covered in paintings of clouds, and, at the very end of the hall, a throne was mounted upon ivory covered steps. Door after door was passed on either side, each flanked by two indifferent guards, as they progressed towards it.

They stopped at the foot of the steps and Lexa bowed her head, displaying her palms upright. Clarke followed suit, observing the customs that Lexa demonstrated.

‘Ah Commander Lexa, I have been expecting you’. The voice was high pitched and clumsy sounding, syllables not wholly perfected, and as the body in the throne descended the steps Clarke saw the reason why. It was a child. They had ventured up a mountain to seek communion with a child who seemed no more than eight years old.

‘Empress’, Lexa bowed her head once more.

‘Ice have moved. They have Polis. They are to have more’. Clarke was astounded. ‘You want the Kingdom’.

Lexa nodded. The child continued down the steps until she was level with Lexa’s eye line. Her eyes were a glassy white, holding a look of otherness, as though seeing things that were not in the room with them. ‘Sometimes you get what you want, sometimes you don’t’. Eyes regarded Clarke briefly. ‘The Mountain fell. Our alliance is ended. There is no place for it in regards to Ice’.

Lexa motioned to speak, however the child continued, ‘I see no resolution. It is not the same as before. There are greater concerns than Ice. Greater than even the Mountain. Greater than the Sky’, eyes flicked back to Clarke once more, ‘I will not trouble myself with your affairs Commander, as much as I sympathise. I really do hope you get what you want’. Her back was presented to them as she moved to resume her place on the throne again. Lexa bit the side of her cheek, Clarke felt the failure for her.

‘Wait!’ Clarke called out before thinking through her words, ‘Isn’t everything linked? Can’t we help each other? If something is greater than the Mountain and Ice and us, then don’t we all need to stay aligned to survive?’

The girl turned around, intrigued at Clarke’s exclamation. She regarded her with interest. ‘Sky shouldn’t be underestimated I see, but there is no prize for impulsiveness. You will remember that. It is survival of the fittest. If a clan cannot adapt, they cannot adapt’. She continued up the steps and sat at her throne, eyes staring forwards unseeing.

Clarke growled out her frustration. Her hands balled into fists. Lexa, on the other hand, had her face arranged perfectly as she pivoted from the steps and strode out of the hall. Only her heavier steps betrayed her resentment at the Empress’ decision.

‘What a little madam’, Raven called out as soon as they were back outside. Eyes looked at the rock face in disbelief, ‘what the hell was that?’ Bellamy shoved her and motioned for her to continue towards the decline as they retreated. ‘This place gets weirder’, was his only answer.

Lexa paused to regard the building through the cloud. Clarke pressed into her side as she had before they entered, hoping it would buoy her up a little. She swallowed once, drew her lips in, and Clarke was sure she saw a pair of grey eyes watering, though the chilling wind ensured that any moisture was soon captured. She expelled a long breath and then turned to Clarke. ‘Sometimes I get what I want, sometimes I don’t’. Clarke felt her chest tightening for Lexa, but then the Commander let out a breathy laugh, more akin to a huff, ‘An obvious statement’. Her eyes were oddly unconcerned, and Clarke could see a glimmer of humour.

Clarke smiled, ‘I guess all-seeing eight year olds aren’t as ethereal as I thought they were then.’

Lexa’s lips twitched, but her brow made a show of chastisement, ‘Mockery-’

‘Yes, I know’. Clarke bumped shoulders with Lexa before following Bellamy and Raven on the path downwards, half troubled by the words of the Empress and half wondering about Lexa’s manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer to a showdown... Sorry for a delay in writing. Getting there. I was a bit iffy about the ending with this one, but it was the best I could do. Perhaps a little too fluffy, but ah well.


	11. Chapter 11

Clarke slept fitfully. Her mind struggled passed the realisation that by tomorrow they would have made their first move against the Kingdom. She spent hours screwing her eyes shut trying to let exhaustion take hold, or produce images of what was to pass. Instead, she conjured only blackness.

A certain solace was achieved in the morning as she went through the motions as normal, packing her tent and forcing down some sustenance, pretending that the day would be another spent on the move, a day where they would move towards their end point, but not actually reach it. The Commander took the normal position opposite her, around the warmed pot on the fire, ate with the same gusto as Clarke had witnessed every other morning, and spoke with the same efficiency to her warriors, yet there was something else about her. Her movements had not altered but there was an energy in the way she gripped her drink and brought her spoon to her mouth. Clarke could almost see the adrenalin coursing through Lexa’s veins, it tinged her motions with an ability for speed and violence Clarke hadn’t noticed before. As Clarke sat watching, it became more apparent that Lexa, within less than second, could have her blade withdrawn, her shoulders hunched and her eyes locked on her target murderously.

At that moment, Lexa’s target was Clarke. She baulked under an inscrutable gaze and feigned a smile, but Lexa merely nodded her reply before standing. Proceedings were hastened with the movement and they were soon back to crunching their way across the frosted snowfall. No words were spoken as they moved further into Ice territory, eyes flitting everywhere to check for guards. They would stop within a reasonable distance to the Kingdom, just at the edge of the forest covering, seek contact with the various gathered parties, and wait until nightfall when the Dark Clan would strike. The trees thinned gradually, though what little light was gained was soon obscured by the thick flakes of snow that took their place. The snowfall came erratically. At times it was thick and light, beautiful if it didn’t hold the association of the coming battle, and at others it was almost pure ice falling from the sky – sharp flecks of it assaulted Clarke’s face, scratching at skin like sharp talons. Her eyes squinted through the frenzy, the constant movement of frozen particles, struggling to make out Lexa’s guiding form ahead. Her stomach sunk as she began to comprehend the difficulty of fighting in such conditions: it was no wonder none had sought out Ice and challenged them on this land before. She would be drained by the time they made it there.

The party’s pace eventually slowed, which had the adverse effect on Clarke’s heart rate. She swallowed the off taste that flooded her mouth. They’d reached their stopping point. The snow ceased to make way for a bitter wind; it buffeted Clarke’s face, drawing moisture from her eyes and immediately catching it up in its gust, turning it into granules of ice.

‘Guess we’ve made it’, Raven muttered under her breath, already gearing up the radio and steeling her eyes despite the shake in her hands. Bellamy shuffled his weight from foot to foot and kept his gun poised. Warriors circled the group again, taking a defensive position around Lexa who remained upright and staring through the few trees around them at the middle distance. Clarke followed her eyes and found the Kingdom. A vast tower emerged through the swirls of surface frost lifted by the wind - a tower surrounded by walls and buildings of differing proportions, all gleaming as in a fairy-tale. The bricks were compacted ice blocks, but carved on some buildings into ornate reliefs or sculptures as though they were chiselled marble. The complex looked impregnable with its towering ice walls and lookout towers, in which the forms of guardsmen could barely be made out. On these walls spikes of ice stuck out like spears and on every one… Clarke leaned forward in hope that the extra inch would allow her eyes to discern the shapes.

‘Heads’, Lexa supplied.

Clarke’s throat constricted and she felt unsteady on her feet. There were hundreds. Hundreds of dead eyes would watch their approach, a silent warning of their fate. Clarke’s vision clouded and her head felt light, she staggered back a little as Lexa threw an arm out.

‘I’m fine’, Clarke’s strong voice surprised her. Lexa nodded. This was no time for frailty and Clarke’s body responded immediately. The eve of battle was upon them and Clarke had been there before. She had torched warriors, she had flooded lungs with poison, she had shot and stabbed flesh. This would be no different. Lexa nodded again, her eyes devoured Clarke’s changing features, her own already mirroring the determined brows and fixed lips. Her tongue only swiped across her own pair once, just as dark eyes swept from blue eyes to lips and back again. Lexa nodded. It was time.

‘Clarke,’ Raven’s voice chimed through the wind, ‘Octavia’s just radioed in, they’re stationed to the left, they have a strong armoury and they’re going to send surplus to us now’.

Lexa turned, ‘Good, was she joined by reinforcements from River?’ Raven nodded in affirmation. ‘And has Luna been in contact?’

‘That’s where Jasper is at. They’re here. Everyone is accounted for. Sand have killed two wandering Ice guards, Lincoln has taken out three and Miller said they’d finished another three too’.

Lexa nodded, ‘Eight guards down will be enough to arouse suspicion. We have time on our side, it is already getting late - the strike will be too quick for them. Have you made contact with Ramen? I wish to talk to him’.

Dials were turned and switches flipped. Lexa issued orders for the attack on Polis this evening, signing off solemnly with the familiar Grounder parting words, spelling his end. Light fell gradually, too slowly for Clarke’s liking. To be so close to action and to have to wait was frustrating. The arrival of weapons and equipment from Octavia’s camp did little to pass the time. Hours were spent watching Lexa tighten her belt and gauntlets, secrete blades into pockets and boots and flex her fingers around the hilt of sword. Clarke adjusted her own clothing, she too took the opportunity to kit herself up with as many blades as possible, but mostly concerned herself with the bullets and hand grenades that had been sent from the Ark (as did Bellamy and Raven). Throughout the night, shifts were taken watching the Kingdom so that snatches of sleep could be granted to all. Lexa never went off shift, eyes peering into the darkness in an effort to make out the movements of the Dark Clan’s agents below. Clarke never slept, mind playing out scenario after scenario and inevitably ending with disembodied heads on frozen spikes…

 

 

A soft glow emanated from the east; daylight was breaking. Clarke stretched her arms and legs at the light, getting up and digging heels into the snow around her tent. Lexa was still sat in the same position Clarke had seen her in throughout the night hours. The Commander tilted her head to signal she heard movement, but made no effort to stand. Ice had dusted the throws around her shoulders, fur had gathered together into hard peaks from the frost, and Lexa seemed to emit a coldness that came from her long watch; as though it had entered her bones and bred in them. She was colder than the air around her and Clarke shivered as she sat next to her, making sure her side was pressed as tightly as possible to Lexa in attempt to warm her. Black war-paint seemed darker against the porcelain skin, turned white from the chilling night, but green eyes were alert and quick, showing no sign of sleeplessness.

‘Did they do it?’ Clarke took in the empty watchtowers, her heart jumping with the thrill of success.

Lexa hummed a confirmation. Her bluish lips curved into a smile and her eyes blazed victoriously for a few moments, before they resettled on the Kingdom. Clarke’s eyes were drawn to the heads once more, imagining the ice knotted hair, the snowflake encrusted eyelashes and blue lips.

‘Lexa’, Clarke had spoken before she thought. Her hands had moved of their own accord as Lexa turned towards her, capturing Lexa’s face lightly between her palms, the coldness she felt there already ordering her to withdraw them. Ignoring this, she ran an unsteady thumb over the length Lexa’s lips, absorbing the chill that had settled there with slow repeated movements. Clarke’s eyes were trained on her actions rather than looking up at Lexa’s eyes, but she felt, more than saw, the smile that the Commander made under her touch. Lexa’s gloved hands came to rest on her own, holding them in place, providing a little warmth for her exposed ones. With this contact, Clarke’s eyes moved to Lexa’s, sending a jolt of warmth through her. She stilled her movements. Green eyes compelled her to move closer, foreheads pressing together; Clarke accepted the shiver and the coldness that came with the act. Lexa’s eye drifted shut and her lips moved under Clarke’s thumb, parting against it and slowly placing a kiss on it. She brought her nose up to trace against Clarke’s and Clarke dropped her thumb, her lips taking its place instead. Clarke stilled there, lips tingling with the sensation of making contact with Lexa’s. Lexa’s grip around her hands had increased, her breathing came shallow and quick against Clarke’s skin, warming the air around them. Lexa held her lips in place as Clarke’s bottom lip slowly skimmed across them.

The radio crackled. Hazy voices called out from it. Clarke stopped. She took in a frosty gasp of air, feeling colder now that Lexa was pulling away. Gloved hands squeezed her own before they withdrew. Apologetic eyes were hardening with every second, but they closed briefly as Lexa whispered out, ‘Sometimes I get what I want, sometimes…’

The statement went unfinished. Raven appeared and began tuning her kit. Lexa stood and Clarke was left overlooking the Kingdom, the image of frosted faces resurfacing before she could turn towards to the radio. Word from the Ark revealed Ramen’s forces had been subdued at Polis, but that a sufficient number of Ice had been killed and fortifications had suffered badly. Scouts reported that reserve Ice troops had moved to the citadel from neighbouring allies, already waiting the second wave attack that had been fed to them through forged letters. Lexa nodded throughout the report, as though she had already heard this news. Her final nod as the radio hummed into silence confirmed that the time had come for them to make their move. Their party would go first, followed closely by Indra’s and Lincoln’s, and from there the remaining bands.

The glow of the sun created a muted atmosphere. Silently they descended, feet carefully advanced over feet of thick ice. Eyes peered through the white mist churning around them. Clarke resisted the urge to bend her head to the ground, to protect her face from the blizzard that swept itself into being the closer they got to the Kingdom. No noise but the whistle and scratching of wind and ice against their bodies reached Clarke’s ears.

All seemed quiet from the within the walls.

The white cloak, although difficult to navigate, would shield their approach until they reached the exterior – inscrutable amongst the swirl. Eyes narrowed in concentration and, all of sudden, faces emerged; whitish blue faces, lips hanging grotesquely in a silent cry, regarding them. Eyes crusted in a thick film of ice, giving the appearance of blindness, entreated them to turn back. Every face displayed the horror of death. Snow had not settled over them in sympathy, it had not caressed their features lovingly. In contrast, it disregarded them, settling on them as a fly settles on decaying matter, treating their presence as a matter of course. A wave of nausea overtook Clarke momentarily, but still she continued towards the walls. They paused briefly, Clarke swayed on her feet as her blood rushed through her arteries and her pulse thrashed in her eardrums, readying herself to face whatever they encountered on the inside. Lexa nodded them forward and the relative calm as they crept through a guard-less entryway surprised Clarke. It was no ambush or heady battle. A path had been created for them by the Dark Clan; they edged around four bodies with throats slit, their telling blood already crystallised into ruby ice. The Commander led the way and it became apparent they were heading for the tower.

Clarke was not sure how much time passed without encountering any inhabitants, but she was aware that the silence had settled on her unbeknownst. When footsteps were heard ahead her stomach dropped and her hands gripped her gun more tightly. Bellamy made to shoot, but Talla shook his head. Three Ice members rounded a corner, their shocked faces confirmed the success of the agents last night – they were blissfully unaware of their vulnerability. Two of Lexa’s warriors swiftly removed the threat, leaving a fresher puddle of blood shining brightly on previously blemish-free white ice. A further six lone figures were killed. It was clear they were members of the morning guard - a golden pin sat proudly on their furs and they were well armed, where the first three had been unarmed wanderers, surely just civilians.

A loud horn sounded. The volume pierced through the howls of wind and muting snowflakes, reverberating against Clarke’s eardrums. The alarm had been raised. Their reinforcements had been spotted or another party had infiltrated and had engaged in battle. Lexa’s face hardened and she sped up the group. They no longer cared for sound and their footfall seemed thunderous now. Bodies rushed at them on either side as they made their way through narrow alleys and streets, weaving labyrinthine to the tower. Bellamy fired precisely, his back to their party as he brought up the rear to fend off following guards, while Raven moved ahead ready with a grenade to blow the door to the tower. Clarke could see it before them, sat in an open square. She fleetingly pictured it as an area used for gatherings, for celebrations and carnivals, for military displays of strength, for royal addresses to the people. The thought was short lived as she took in the sight before her: a line of guards stood around the tower, five people deep, their shields were tall and arranged so that slight gaps between them allowed for lines of archers to shoot through. Clarke gulped. There must have been nearing two hundred guards. They would have to take out about ten guards each. She slowed, thinking there would be some instruction, some command or hasty plan. Lexa quickened, she rushed forward, sword withdrawn, almost dancing as she avoided arrows. Clarke’s view of the Commander was obscured as she surged forwards also. Raven had thrown a grenade. The explosion shattered her eardrums. Shards of ice flew from the tower and rained overhead. Bellamy’s shots could be heard against the thick shields while metal swords clanged. Another explosion. Clarke fired. Cries could be heard. The horn sounded again. An arrow caught her in the arm. She spun in its direction and found guards were stationed in the buildings around the square, aiming through the windows. She fired in their general direction, but it was useless with their height advantage. She needed to get closer. Talla was at her side in an instant, moving ahead and beside her with a fury she was unaware he possessed, he took down six guards who had moved to attack and cleared the way to one of the houses.

He battered a door in and Clarke fired blindly inside as she caught sight of more fur clad figures. Climbing stairs two at a time, they emerged to the next floor, archers already poised to fire after hearing the commotion downstairs. Talla threw a blade, Clarke fired. There was no time to pause and regroup. They took the next flight and were met with a similar sight. Clarke peered out of the window below, the area was swarming with Ice guards, she could make out some Grounders, moving like juggernauts through the throng, yet guard after guard spilled out into the square from the adjoining streets. They converged onto the square: all roads led to the royal residence. They were effectively surrounded. She fired down at a few guards below and threw a grenade into the furore before turning to exit for the next house.

They took out three more houses, each time entering onto the square between buildings, where a mixture of limbs and shouts overwhelmed Clarke’s senses. Talla furiously swiped at their surroundings, felling guard after guard. Clarke blazed a trail of bullets and attempted to pick out faces in the crowd. They bundled into the next building, a huge serving kitchen, with rows of tables all still set for breakfast - Clarke took in the huddled civilians underneath them. A guard stepped forward and struck Talla in the face. Clarke shot three times before the figure fell to the ground. Talla’s bloody eye still roamed around the area, eyes fixing themselves on the terrified faces of the innocent. His jaw clenched before he overturned a table and demolished the safety they found under them. Lexa’s words echoed in Clarke’s head, but they sounded removed now, they sounded barbaric and unnecessary: ‘No life will be spared, be it royal blood or common blood’. Talla followed orders. Clarke stood, dazed, but followed Talla when he moved upstairs and fired when presented with extended swords. They flew up the next staircase to find three guards dead and a hooded black figure withdrawing their blade from the chest of one. It spun quickly on its heels, ready to launch at them.

‘Clarke!’

‘Octavia?’

They crashed into each other clumsily. Gripping onto familiarity in the midst of so much uncertainty.

‘Bellamy?’

‘I haven’t seen him, he’s on the square’, Octavia rushed to the window as though expecting to discern her brother in the commotion. She threw blades into the crowd below, success flashing in her eyes when she took down three guards.

‘We need to get down there’, Octavia resolved, looking at the square. ‘I’ve taken down those houses this side of the tower’, she motioned at them through the window, ‘Sand archers are stationed in them. What’s at the other side?’

Clarke shook her head at the unknown, ‘We’ve taken down four, but no one moved into them’. A fleeting sense of regret entered her being, Octavia had been forward thinking. Ice could have re-established themselves in the houses she and Talla had cleared.

Octavia nodded, ‘Everyone’s efforts are on the square. Shame we don’t have rocket fuel and a lighter, hey?’ She smiled grimly before throwing a blade into the crowd once more, and then rattled down the stairs, Clarke and Talla close behind. Another explosion scattered bodies and Clarke added to the destruction throwing two grenades into side alleys where guards were emerging. They needed to barricade the area. Macabre thoughts of using the bodies she tripped and stepped upon entered her thoughts momentarily, but they were overtaken by instinctual reactions as guards approached her.

They moved in a triangle formation, Talla, Octavia and Clarke, closer to the tower, dispersing guards as they went. Gun shots were becoming a prevalent sound and Clarke vaguely understood that there must be more Arkers than just herself, Bellamy and Raven present. She redoubled her efforts and kept her eyes scanning the scene, hoping they would latch on to Miller or Jasper. They were close to the tower now, Clarke took some sense of joy in seeing that the five lines of guards that had so solidly stood around it had broken formation and had entered into the fray. By the door, Bellamy and Lexa were fending off attackers, blood splattered faces set firmly and eyes aflame with the single-minded savagery of killing the enemy. Clarke moved closer steadily and, with the efforts of Talla and Octavia, created a buffer between the guards and the Commander. Lexa’s eyes trailed over Clarke briefly, assessing damage, stilling at the torn sleeve and surface wound, before her lips quirked slightly. It was a momentary falter in her concentration and she scrambled slightly to turn quickly enough to stab at the approaching guard. Her turn was unnecessary as a bullet hit between his eyes and he doubled over instantly. Clarke raised an eyebrow at her own marksmanship, and continued to fire into the crowd. Another rumble and bang signalled a grenade had gone off nearby, though the sound was muted, more controlled, and on turning Clarke clocked that Raven had blown the entrance to the tower. Holding an open topped grenade, she threw it away from her, over the heads of approaching forces and Bellamy shot at it mid-air, causing whatever gunpowder remaining inside to ignite like fireworks and drop down on their foes.

Lexa flew into the tower as guards pressed towards the entrance seeing it helpless. Bellamy rained gunfire over them and Raven continued to pitch hand grenades towards them. Octavia flung herself at the crowd and was already lost in the press, the shrill clank of metal being the only clue of her presence. Clarke saw no option but follow Lexa – there would be guards in the tower too and the backup of Talla would be needed. She was not expecting the grandeur that met her eyes. On the outside the tower was much like the other icy constructions of the Kingdom, but inside it shone with vibrant colours. Furs were richly thrown underfoot, gold panels decorated the walls, and the ceilings had been painted classically showing biblical scenes. Upholstered chairs, thickly stuffed, called back images of the Mountain. The various artefacts the room contained (an Egyptian sarcophagus, an archaic globe and several jewel encrusted and Grecian marble statues) suggested trade had occurred with them throughout the years. Clarke gulped down her realisation.

No guards greeted them on the ground floor. It felt too easy. Talla looked unsettled by their findings but continued on to the ornately winding staircase. There was the reception they had been anticipating, though Lexa had made short work of the guards as none drew breath. Blood seeped into the fur covering the floor. They moved onwards, checking the floor before taking the next flight. Again several guards lay motionless, though a thick trail of blood led up the next stairway. It called Clarke to follow it. Her footprints reddened as she took up its direction over a following two flights, across the reception area, and down a long corridor. The walls held vast portraits of those who, Clarke assumed, were previously reigning Kings and Queens. Each figure loomed down from the wall with eyes that held the malice and greed she had been informed of. The corridor ended with two towering doors, painted white and blue and gilded with white gold or silver. She pressed firmly into the left door and they both opened of their accord, as though a mechanism had been triggered for a theatrical display, an almost magical entrance. The room was large, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like giant spiders, the floor was tiled black and white as a chess board, and, in the centre of the room, raised on a platform, was a single throne.

Clarke saw these things in an instant as her eyes took in the scene before her. Bodies lay scattered over the floor, redundant pieces on the chess board, guards, mere pawns; their deaths meaning nothing to their opponent who now stood at the foot of the throne with an arm encircled tightly around an elderly woman. Higher pieces had also been taken: younger royals looked as though they were playing sleeping lions, while older members of the family, their elegant clothing and jewelled head pieces marking them out, had not been afforded the same peaceful frieze in death. Deep gashes in their throat still oozed and, in some, the odd twitch of muscle occurred as the last pieces of life vanished. The elderly woman was clearly frightened despite the cold look of dignity that touched her eyes. Her mouth was set scornfully, her lips tightly held in to stop her pleadings for mercy. She had left her throne and Clarke thought it was a mistake – she must have known there was no escape, she should have died regal and upright upon it. The woman scrambled to reclaim her pride, on her knees as she was, though her silence as Lexa ran her knife through her throat was commendable. Lexa’s chest heaved once, she swayed on her feet, but she turned her back and stepped on the plinth, taking the newly claimed throne. The Queen Mother was dead. A fleeting smile graced Lexa's features before she closed her eyes and her body went limp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking an age to update. This took some time and I have learnt that writing action/battle scenes is difficult.


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